The Literary Pharmacy
by mynameisginster
Summary: Recently Carlisle is feeling slightly unsatisfied, but isn't sure why. In an effort to flee the very attentive nurses at work, he decides to go for a walk. He stumbles over The Literary Pharmacy, a bookshop that tries to heal people by using books as medicine for the soul. Sometimes, even Doctors need curing. [AU: No Esme & Nessie, Bella is a normal newborn vampire]
1. The Lost Boys

„Doctor Cullen? I thought you might like some tea."

Carlisle looked up from his paperwork to find one of the nurses already halfway through his office, a steaming cup in her hands that spread the smell of peppermint through the air. She smiled enticingly at him, faltering slightly as she noticed the two other cups of cold tea that sat on his desk.

"Oh, looks like someone else had the same idea." She laughed nervously as she sat the cup down.

He suppressed a sigh and smiled up at her.

"Thank you Nina, it was very… thoughtful of you." He immediately regretted using her name. The smile reappeared, wider than before, and her hand flew up to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear.

"Oh, it's no problem at all. If there is anything else I can do for you…" She let the sentence hang in the air and leaned against his desk.

"No, thank you," he answered quickly, and rose from his desk, „In fact, I was just heading out."

He had had no such plans, but he couldn't stay in his office any longer. This was the fourth time within the last hour that one of the nurses had appeared in his office with tea or questions regarding patients or other flimsy excuses to flirt with him.

Quickly he slipped past her and out of the door, murmuring some inconsequential excuse. Thankfully his office was located near one of the side-exits, and he was out in the fresh air in a flash. He ran his hand over his face and took a deep, unnecessary breath.

It wasn't that he wasn't used to the attentions of the female staff. It was inevitable for him, and usually he was able to handle it quite well. Sure, whenever they moved to a new town and he started to work at a new hospital, it was particularly bad. But it usually took only a few weeks until they realized that their wishes were never going to come true, even if this realization did not keep them from wishing.

Carlisle reacted to their advances with polite friendliness, making sure to treat all of them equally, so as not to give any of them any illusions of favouritism. Still, it was hard for him. He was sociable and friendly by nature, and he could not bring himself to be unnecessarily cold to anyone.

Their job was to save lives, and in order to do so they needed to work together. So he tried his best to smooth any disruptions his person caused, always striving for a careful balance of polite distance and friendly colleagueship, a method that usually worked well. Most of them came around pretty quickly and were able to work with him. Only once in a while one of them would be bolder or not as easily discouraged, and he needed to be more direct, something he was loath to do.

But this time it seemed to be different. Almost half a year had passed since they had taken up residency here, and the excitement about him had not dwindled, instead, most of the nurses were still hovering around him as much as was possible. Maybe it was their tenacity that bothered him more than usual, but of late he found himself more and more irritated by their advances.

Today it had grown so bad that he actually felt the need to flee the hospital, which was usually his place of respite. Now he found himself aimlessly wandering the streets, irritation buzzing through his body like a faint electric current.

His inability to pinpoint what exactly was bothering him only irritated him more. Over the last months something had taken hold of him that neither he nor Edward or Jasper could explain. His life had not changed much, even if he had gained a daughter-in-law and they had once again moved to a different town. It was nothing world-changing, but the easy satisfaction he usually felt when he thought about his family and his job had slightly dwindled.

The wind changed direction and brought with it a scent that pulled him from his musings.  
 _Books_ , he thought, _books and dust and lavender_. He inhaled a bit deeper. _Leather, Paper; both old and new, wood, vanilla, violets_. And something sweet, that reminded him of something...

Curiosity and a desire for distraction made him follow the smell down the street and around a corner. He had wandered farther than he had realized while he was lost in thought, this was a corner of town he had not been to before.

The smell grew stronger in the little street he was walking down now, leading straight to a bookshop that was sitting on the corner, across from a small café. The sign above the door was a faded white and read _The Literary Pharmacy_ written in calligraphy.

A small shiver ran down his back, but the loud voice carrying through the closed door of the shop diverted his attention before he could wonder what had caused it.

"What is that supposed to mean? You _won't_ sell it to me?" a harsh female voice inquired inside the shop. A small sigh, probably barely audible to the enraged customer, preceded the answer.

"If you insist, I will obviously sell it to you, but I'd really rather not. Not this particular book.", another woman replied, her voice even.

"And why not?"

"Because it's not the right one for you. Nick Jordan isn't your type." came the reply.

"Not my type? Miss, I am here to buy a book, not to find a husband!" By now, the woman's voice was bristling with indignation. The other woman chuckled under her breath, the amusement tinging her voice as she said: "With all due respect, but the books you read are far more important than which man you marry, at least in the long run."

A bell rang as Carlisle entered the shop. The air was warm and dry, thick with the scent that had led him here, and he closed the door quietly behind him. The store was bigger than it looked from the outside, roomy and cozy. There were a few small tables and couches strewn throughout the room, most of them by the windows. Huge shelves made of dark wood were overflowing with books, more of them were stacked on tables. Dozens of lamps hang from the ceiling, some alone, some arranged in groups, all with different lampshades. To the right there was a wooden counter currently occupied by the two women. In front of the counter stood an older woman, probably around fifty years old, wrapped in an expensive looking coat, a designer bag hanging from her arm. Her red lips were pressed together in disapproval. Behind the counter was a younger woman, maybe half her customer's age, with long hair, a pretty face and a small smile on her lips. Neither of the women registered his entrance, both of them fully invested in their argument. Silently he started browsing the impressive collection, while he listened to their conversation.

"What kind of bookseller are you? Telling me _not_ to buy books!"

"One who takes her job very seriously. And I do want you to buy books, just not _The Lost Boys."  
_  
The woman narrowed her eyes and waved her wallet.

"Just give me the damn book, take my money, and then we can both pretend it's a nice day."

The bookseller smiled. "It _is_ a nice day, but you're not getting this book. At least not from me. But I would like to introduce you to a few others, if I may?"

"This is ridiculous!" she spat, her voice growing continuously louder," I'm not having this. Just because you probably disliked the book-", the woman threw her wallet into her bag and turned around, but the younger woman quickly but her hand on her arm before she could walk away. The smile was gone from her face, instead she was studying the woman intently.

"You have the choice. You can go, leave this shop and curse me, or you could make a choice to spare yourself countless hours of torture, from this moment on."

The older woman hesitated for a second, then she ripped her arm away. "That's what I'm doing right now." She whirled around and headed to the door, so the bookseller's next words hit her square in the back.

"Please, put your trust in this, or you will only keep on torturing yourself about those useless relationships with these even more useless men, or your next stupid diet, because you're not thin enough for that one man or not stupid enough for the next one."

With flared nostrils and shaking hands she turned back around to the shopkeeper, her voice icy.  
"How dare you?!"

The younger woman did not let this answer discourage her, instead she slipped out from behind the counter, a book in her hands, and slowly made her way over to the other woman. She moved deliberately, carefully, like she was approaching a wounded animal, her voice calm.

"Books can protect you from idiocy. From false hope. Or from the wrong men. They can fill you with life. If it's the right book. The right book can give you love, knowledge, hope… "She said, and held the book out in front of her, her hands covering the title. Automatically the older woman reached for it, but the bookseller didn't let go. Her voice grew soft, almost tender now, as she looked at the woman who stared at her with baited breath.

"You will need a room just for yourself, not too bright, preferably with a bed. Read it slowly, in small portions, so you can rest in between. You will have a lot to think about- and to cry about. You'll cry for yourself. For the years. But you will feel better afterwards. You will understand that you won't have to die now, even if it feels like it, because that guy treated you so horribly. You will like yourself again, and you'll stop feeling like you're ugly and naïve."

She let go of the book. The woman stared at her, the shock written so plainly on her face that it was evident that her words had hit home. She blinked twice and dropped the book.

"You're totally crazy.", she whispered, whirled around and stumbled out of the shop. Through the window Carlisle could see her retreating, each heeled step an angry stab against the ground, her shoulders shaking violently under her coat. He could still hear her rugged breathing. She was fighting against the tears, and he could hear that she was losing.

"Damn."

He turned back around to the bookseller, who was rubbing her face with both her hands. She sighed wearily and bent down to pick up the discarded book, brushing off the now slightly bended spine.

"Wonderful," she muttered under her breath, still perfectly audible to his ears. " Now I've got a ruined book and an angry customer. And I thought I could keep it together."

She walked back to the counter, but stopped mid-step and turned back to the room. Apparently she was only now realizing that somebody else had come in, and her eyes quickly fell on him, widening visibly as she took him in.

"Jesus, Lord Almighty", she said and put a hand to her heart. "Your face needs to come with a warning and a paper bag. "

He stared at her with raised eyebrows. He'd never heard _that_ before.

"A paper bag? To put over my face?"

"Oh," she put her hand over her mouth and started laughing, "No! Sorry, that came out wrong. I mean, putting it over your face _might_ help, but it'd be an awful waste- I meant the kind of paper bag you breathe into, you know." She grinned and whacked her fist against her chest. "Either I'm close to hyperventilating or I'm having palpitations- probably both. You're ridiculously handsome, is what I'm trying to say." She finished, almost accusingly, but her eyes were alight with mirth.

He couldn't help but laugh. It was rare that people openly addressed their beauty, and if they did, it was usually followed up by aggressive flirting or immoral offers, nothing like the open humor that this woman was exhibiting now. A compliment, offered without any expectations.

"I am truly sorry for the lack of warning, but I did not want to interrupt your… discussion." Carlisle answered, and she didn't miss his slight hesitation at the end. She grimaced.

"Ah, yes. I'm sorry you had to witness that, I'm not usually _that_ crazy. I feel awful- it wasn't kind to pester her like that. She was already hurt, she didn't need an insensitive smart-aleck …" She stared out the door, as if she was trying to find the woman outside.

"Is _The Lost Boys_ really that awful?" he asked her, and she looked at him, surprised. He wasn't exactly one to read all the newest praised bestsellers, but even he had heard of the gigantic success Nick Jordan's debut novel had been.

"No, not at all. It's a wonderful book. His first work, very honest and courageous. But the book is overflowing with men that view love as a weakness because it makes them lose control. Not right for her. I mean… It probably wouldn't have hurt her. Much. But it would've been salt in an open wound. Still, I was too… well, I got a bit carried away." She sighed again, her eyes on the door. "I'm always too emotional with women like her," she added, almost as an afterthought to herself. He wanted to ask what she meant by that, but she quickly shook her head as if to clear it, and flashed him a smile.

"Anyways. What brings you here on this fine day? Are you looking for something?" She eyed him speculatively from head to toe, but not in an appreciative manner like before. A sly smile appeared on her lips. "Or are you hiding from the nurses?"

His eyebrows shot up. "How…?" he started, but she laughed and pointed to his white coat.

"Your coat, your face, no ring. It's not _that_ hard to figure out."

Carlisle laughed, a little ill at ease. First her quick – and apparently correct- assessment of the other woman, and now this. She seemed to be awfully observant. He wondered if it was a latent talent. Alice, Jasper and Edward had all exhibited symptoms while they were human, and Bella's shield had been impenetrable…. He cleared his throat as he noticed her raised eyebrow.

"Ah. Well, I am _not_ hiding from the nurses, if you want to know. I am simply… spending my break away from the hospital premises." Which was almost the truth. He _wasn't_ hiding.

"I see," she grinned. "Well, I'll let you browse then. If you have any questions, you know where to find me. And if a stray nurse happens to wander in here, you can hide behind the counter," she added with a wink. He had the feeling she was amusing herself quite well on his behalf, and surprisingly, found himself equally entertained.

" _The Literary Pharmacy_ is quite an unusual name for a bookstore." He observed as he followed her to the counter, and she shrugged.

"It's what it is. My uncle's bookstore, back at home, goes by this name, too. He taught me how important books can be. How they can heal aches that you lot," she looked pointedly at his coat," cannot heal. All those feelings and pains and fears that are too small to be of any consequence for a therapist or a doctor, but that are still very much real. Like the feeling you get when another summer ends. The wistfulness you get on the morning of yet another birthday. Homesickness for the way the air smelled in your grandmother's kitchen. The small sadness when a growing friendship doesn't take hold and you have to look for a companion once more. These kinds of things." She looked up at him, a strange determination on her face." It's a myth that booksellers take care of books. We take care of people. Hence, the name. We sell books like medicine."

He listened to her little speech, surprised and mystified. Her approach to books was not entirely unheard of, but the ferocity and with which she seemed to pursue it was astounding to him. The devotion she felt towards it was plainly evident, and her observation skills now made a lot more sense.

"So _The Lost Boys_ was an aspirin, but that woman was suffering from a cough?"

An approving smile stretched across her face at his comparison and she shook her head eagerly.

"No, _The Lost Boys_ is a blood thinner, and she's in the middle of open heart surgery."

"I see." He nodded with a small smile. "Is it always that bad?"

"Do all _your_ patients have open heart surgeries?" she retorted, and he laughed.

"Thankfully, no. So sometimes you only sell books, and not medicine?"

" Most of the time, yes. I can sort my customers- or patients, if you like- into three categories: The first ones are those who have a certain book in mind, and they come in to buy it. They are happy with their life, and I am happy to help them, because, well, let's be honest, they pay my bills. The second kind are the ones for whom books are the only respite, the only breath of fresh air from the stuffy tedium of daily life. Those I like best, because they don't _need_ my judgement, so they easily trust it. Naturally, I love that." She laughed, then sobered up. She was leaning over the counter slightly, her eyes bright, her face animated.  
"Sometimes they entrust me with their little vulnerabilities. They tell me _Please, nothing with spiders or insects, I can't stand them_ or _Nothing with brunette women in it, please._ Sometimes they sing songs to me or hum melodies they still remember from their childhood, and they want me to find them a book that feels like that song to them.  
The third kind are the ones like that woman, although they're not always that heavily wounded. Most of the time it's something lighter, easier. It's not always a wound, sometimes it's simply a desire. But sometimes it's something far more sinister. These customers aren't always easy to deal with, because they usually think they belong to category one." A wry smile stretched across her face.

"Like that woman.", Carlisle guessed, and she nodded.

"Yes." Another glance out of the window, and then she laughed, this time a bit nervously. "She's probably right. I _am_ crazy."

"On the contrary, I think what you say makes perfect sense, even if it's a bit… unusual." He said, meaning every word. Carlisle himself had always been an avid reader, finding respite, knowledge, wisdom or hope between pages when he couldn't find them anywhere else.

She gave him a grateful smile that was much smaller than the ones she usually seemed to hand out quite freely.

His next question was stopped short by the sharp clicking of heels approaching the door, followed by the ringing of the bell. The older woman from earlier was standing in the door, her eyes red and swollen, but her gaze clear and focused.

"Fine," she said, her voice hoarse, "give me those books that will be nice to me, and fuck the men who aren't."

With raised eyebrows he looked from the older woman, who had her chin raised belligerently, to the younger woman who was now smiling widely.

"Wonderful!" she exclaimed and waved the woman over to a big leather armchair.

"I guess I better get out of the way, then", he said, and she smiled at him over her shoulder as she rolled up her sleeves.

He took up _The Lost Boys_ from a table on the other side of the room, scanning the pages absentmindedly while he listened to the silent interrogation that took place on the other side of the room. The questions quickly covered a wide array of topics, none of them too intimate, but neither too generic. The woman quickly lost her inhibition.

Her name was Florence, she was a secretary for a company "that mistakes women as a cross between an espresso machine and a couch" (a description that earned a rather indelicate snort from the other woman), as a child she loved to wear a pair of red corduroy trousers.

Just as she was finishing her description of a frequent nightmare she had, his beeper hummed in his pocket, and he made his way to the door after a quick look, returning the little wave that the bookseller gave him.

He slipped out of the store and heard the woman ask: "So, tell me: How crazy am I?"

Her laughter accompanied him down the street.

"Not more than any of us."

He quickly made his way back to the hospital, a small smile still on his lips.

Only as one of the nurses asked what had put him in such a good mood did he realize that he didn't even know her name.


	2. Bertram's Books

The next day Carlisle found himself walking down the small street again, following the trail of scent that led straight to the _Literary Pharmacy_. As usual, the women at work had strived to catch him alone. Two complimentary cups of coffee and a muffin accompanied by fluttering eyelashes had worn out his patience thoroughly, and he had fled his office again.

But, if he was honest, the nurses were not the only reason why he wanted to pay the bookshop another visit. Yesterday night he had sat in his office at home, working on the paperwork he had neglected earlier, and looked up at his extensive bookshelves. In vain he had tried to remember when he had last read something purely for pleasure, and not because it related to his work or other research. He had recalled the passionate words the bookseller had used as she tried to persuade her customer. _Books can protect you from idiocy. From false hope. They can fill you with life. If it's the right book. The right book can give you love, knowledge, hope…_

Carlisle used to feel the same way. But somewhere along the way, the magic had been replaced by the mundane. _The only breath of fresh air from the stuffy tedium of daily life_ , she had called it. This realization, paired with curiosity, made him decide to return to the store at some point.

He rounded the last corner and headed up the street, his eyes falling on the café across from the _Literary Pharmacy_. An idea formed in his head and a grin crept on his face.

Five minutes later the doorbell announced his arrival. She was standing at the counter, writing something in a large book. She did not look up immediately, instead she finished whatever she was doing. Then she smiled and straightened up.

"Hello, may I-"she stopped short when she saw him, looking rather surprised. Before she could say anything else, he raised a pale finger.

"One second." He walked over to the counter and set a paper bag on the counter. For a second she looked confused, then realization dawned on her face and she started laughing loudly. He fought off a grin and forced his face to look solemn. "I have learned my lesson."

She shook her head incredulously, still laughing, her soft curls bouncing merrily. She picked up the bag and peered inside. "And the cupcake?"

The corner of his mouth twitched, but Carlisle fought it back down. "A precaution. You know, in case I have a good hair day."

She laughed again, then she looked pointedly at his hair and took a big bite out of the cupcake. She swallowed noisily. "Very responsible, Doctor Cullen." She shrugged at his raised eyebrow, but this time, he could guess her answer. "You and your family are all the town talks about since you arrived," she explained.

He couldn't suppress a small sigh, which earned him a compassionate glance from her.

"It's a small town." She said apologetically.

"Indeed." He shook his head. "In that case, I believe you have me at a disadvantage."

"I'm Claire. Claire Deakin." She said with a smile, and stretched out her hand. He hesitated for a second, not wanting to see the inevitable look of discomfort flit across her face when she felt his icy skin. _On the other hand_ , he thought, _refusing to shake her hand would be incredibly rude_.

His quick brain was trying to come up with a decision when he was saved by the telephone. Claire glanced over, shot him an apologetic look and raised her extended hand in a _just-one-second_ gesture. He graciously raised both hands in silent compliance and went to browse the displayed books, secretly relieved.

She answered the phone, and tucked it between ear and shoulder after a second, picking up the discarded cupcake instead. He could discern that the caller was a customer who wanted to order a "book basket" as a gift for his mother, but had no time to visit the store personally, so he called from work. He named a few books he knew his mother had liked. Claire picked the cupcake apart and ate the pieces while she offered suggestions, quickly and efficiently summarizing plots or themes.

While Claire was on the phone, the door opened and a girl entered the shop. She was around ten years old, Carlisle guessed, and wore a big tattered backpack. The girl waved at Claire who returned the greeting with a smile, and strode purposefully over to the far corner of the room. There, she plucked a huge book from a shelf- he could see it was a complete, illustrated copy of C.S. Lewis' _Narnia-_ threw her bag down, shrugged out of her coat and sat down on one of the wide couches. She opened the book at a marked page, wiggled to get into a comfortable position, and stuck her runny nose in the book.

Curious, Carlisle studied the shelf the girl had taken the book from, and saw a small sign above it that said _Library Books_.

After a few minutes and an agreement on the prize, Claire had finished her conversation as well as her cupcake. Carlisle noticed that she did not write any of the titles down, apparently trusting her memory with the details.

"Hey Em. How are we this fine day?" she called in a slight sing-song voice. The girl simply raised her thumb and sniffed her nose. Claire rolled her eyes, pulled out a paper tissue and went over to the little girl who was lost in her book in the corner. With a straightforwardness that suggested that this was a normal action for both of them, she leaned over the girl and held the tissue to her nose, which the girl immediately blew quite loudly. Unfazed, Claire folded the tissue and threw it in a bin that was standing nearby. Then she put her hand on the girl's head, and looked at the passage she was reading.

"Well, where are we, Mighty Em? Ooooh, that's a good part."

Mighty Em just nodded and waved her away impatiently. Snickering, she patted the girls head and left her to her reading. He wondered if the girl was mute.

Wiping her hands on her jeans, Claire returned to Carlisle, and he nodded over to the corner Mighty Em was sitting in.

"A library in a bookstore seems rather impractical."

Claire gave him an odd look then, and looked over to the shelves. She frowned, but then she shrugged nonchalantly. "Not very. There are libraries anyway- if someone doesn't want to buy a book, they won't do it, library or not. And this way I have books at hand that don't sell anymore, because they're too old, or out of style, but that I still need for my… patients."

"It's not exactly a library, anyways, more of an exchange program for books. Give one, take one. Or read it here." She pointed at the small group of coffee tables and couches. "This isn't _just_ a store, you see. I have a deal with the café next door, their customers can eat and drink in here, too. I know, I know, food in a bookstore- it's outrageous." She grinned. "It's still early, that's why nobody's here right now, but around noon these tables are usually full with people that are on their break. I have a lot of regulars."

Then she looked at him, eyebrows raised. "Alright, now, what can I help you with? Did anything catch your interest yesterday? Or," she said, the sly smile back on her face, "Were the nurses hunting again?"

Carlisle hesitated. He _was_ here to buy a book, but if he picked one now, he would have to leave, and he still had questions he wanted answered. Still, he did not want to blame the nurses, because the problem was his own recent lack of patience.

"Nothing in particular, I was just going for a walk." At her raised eyebrow, he raised his shoulders defensively and said in his best responsible-doctor voice: "Exercise is healthy." Not that _he_ benefited from a walk, but as a doctor, he had to set an example. She snorted and walked back to the counter.

"Well, as I said, if a stray nurse walks in, the counter's all yours." She threw him a grin and picked up a stack of books.

"So…" he started as he followed her over to a shelf where she started sorting the books. Carlisle considered to offer holding the stack for her, but she looked at him expectantly, and he realized that she was waiting for him to continue. He cleared his throat. "Where is the original _Literary Pharmacy_ located then? You mentioned yesterday that your uncle's store goes by the same name."

"Oh, it's in London. Near Spitalfields Market, to be precise."

He looked at her, surprised. "You're English?" She sounded perfectly American. Claire nodded.

"Half, from my father's side, my mother is German. I know, you can't really hear either. You know how most people never really lose their accent? I'm the exact opposite- I can't _keep_ it. I can't help but adapt to the way the people around me speak- if an Australian came in right now and started talking to me, you'd think I was born down under in less than ten minutes. It's not on purpose, in fact, I am horrible at imitating accents if I actively try. Don't ask me, I don't understand it either." She shrugged with a laugh and looked at him speculatively. "But, you, Doctor _Carlisle Cullen_ ," she emphasized his name, "have no accent either."

He guessed that she was referring to the fact that his names were unquestionably Irish and British. _Awfully observant_. Apparently he was not the only one looking for answers. He shrugged nonchalantly.

"Well, I was born in London, but I have not lived there in a very long time." That was as good as the truth. In a way, he still _had_ his accent- the modern British was nowhere close to the English that had been spoken when he was born. Not that he could tell her that. Normally he was not this careful about personal questions; in general he found that a few superficial answers worked better to prevent suspicions than no answers at all. But she was so observant and alarmingly intuitive, that he thought it wise to be careful, even if he disliked it. So he quickly intercepted her next question about his past with one of his own.

"Did you grow up in London then?"

She shook her head, her hair bouncing softly.

"No, I lived in Germany until I was eleven. Then my uncle took me in, and I went to live with him in London."

"What happened to your parents?" he asked softly, expecting sorrow to show on her face. Instead her face hardened slightly and her mouth set in a grim line. She did not answer immediately, and he apologized for intruding, but she shook her head slightly.

"No, it's alright. I mean, it's natural to ask, I just… I don't like to talk about it. Let's just say, they weren't fit to take care of me any longer. So, my uncle- my father's brother- stepped in." The hard look disappeared, replaced by a small, amused smile. "He was always a bit strange- a scholar, with very… peculiar ideas. About books, about people. Not very fond of children, at least outside of a bookstore. A bachelor down to the bone. And suddenly burdened with an eleven year old girl." She laughed fondly, her eyes fixed on something in the distance. _Unlikely to adopt a child that was not his own then_ , Carlisle thought. He wondered what had transpired with her parents, but refrained from asking. _What was bad enough to make a man who dislikes children adopt a little girl_?

Claire looked up then, taken out of her memories. "Well, luckily we both shared our love for books. It also helped that he is an awful cook, and I make a mean meatloaf." She grinned smugly, and he laughed with her.

"Somehow we made it work, and it didn't take long for me to start working in his shop. After I finished school, he officially took me on as his apprentice."

"How did you end up here of all places then?" he wondered. She was finished sorting the stack of books, and went back to the counter to retrieve another stack. Carlisle quickly rounded a table and picked it up. "Here, let me give you a hand." She thanked him with a small smile, led him over to one of the shelves and started to sort the books again while she continued her story.

"Well, Uncle Q didn't just sell books, he collected them too. Special editions, antiques and the like, you know? He trained me to restore them, care for them, and also to verify their authenticity. You wouldn't believe it, but the market for antique books is a criminal scene." She winked at him.

Since he had the one or the other rather rare example in his private collection -not all of them acquired through _completely_ legal channels- he believed her quite readily.

"So, I was twenty-one and I had just finished my training, when my uncle found a collector in America, who was claiming to own a rare, unpublished edition of early poems by Robert Frost, and he was willing to part ways with it for a fitting sum. And while Uncle Q loves to travel, he has an avid hatred for heights, and by extension for airplanes, so he sent me instead. I was supposed to verify the authenticity and even negotiate the price. That's how I came here and met Alfred Bertram. He was the collector, and very cooperative. I could quickly verify that the manuscript was indeed authentic, and we agreed on a price easily. "

"I still had a few days until my flight back- I had planned to stay a week, in case the negotiations would take longer, some of these collectors can be right old sods- and Mr. Bertram was very interested in our way of selling books. We struck up an easy friendship, despite our age difference- he was fifty-nine back then. Then, a day before I was supposed to leave, he fell down a set of stairs and broke his hip, effectively making him incapable of maintaining his bookstore. He had no family to help him, so I didn't hesitate long, called Uncle Q, explained the situation, canceled my flight and stayed to help him. A month turned into two, two into three... Finally he was back on his feet again, and I was planning on heading back, when Alfred started to make little comments about how he was getting older, and how his hip was still hurting, and good help was nowhere to be found… I didn't even realize what he was getting at until he looked at me sternly- the only way he could look, really. He had these wispy eyebrows that made him look like one of these owls, you know?" She chuckled lightly, but he could sense sadness, too. He had not missed that she was speaking of him in the past tense.

"Anyways, he cornered me one day while I was planning my return, and said to me: 'Listen here, girl. If you want to run back to London and be fancy, fine by me. However, and this is just a suggestion, you should use that brain of yours to assess the situation a bit more thoroughly before you hop on a plane. In case it has escaped your notice, I am not the youngest anymore. I have a bookshop and an impressive collection of valuable books and manuscripts, and no family to leave them to once I've crossed the river. Of course I could sell everything, or give it to some brainless sod who fancies themselves a bookseller- but you know, if I had a better option, someone I knew was sensible, someone I could trust to take care of my life's work- who knows what might happen? Think about _that_ while you book your flight.'"

"Then he limped away, leaving me standing there pretty dumbfounded. I called Uncle Q, who told me that I'd be an idiot to turn my back on an opportunity like that, and that he had no patience for idiots, so if I even thought of doing so, he never wanted to see me again. Of course, he said, he'd thought of leaving the Literary Pharmacy in my hands, but he was only forty-three back then. ' I still have a few good years left in me, or so I hope' he said, and that settled it. I returned to London to pack my things, and then I moved here. That was a little over two years ago. I've been here ever since."

 _So she is barely twenty-three and has already left her home twice, once to live with a stranger on the other side of the world_.

She smiled a sad smile then and looked up at him.

"About thirteen months later, Alfred got sick. _Advanced renal cell carcinoma_. They could've replaced his kidney, but the tumor had spread already- they showed us his PET scan, and he lit up like a Christmas tree. It didn't take long after that." Her voice had gotten husky at her last words, and she cleared her throat. His hand put itself on her arm by its own will, giving her a small sympathetic squeeze.

"I'm sorry." Carlisle said simply. In his endless years of work he had learned that most of the time, there was nothing more to say in the face of grief. Claire nodded and looked around the store with a small smile, and Carlisle took a step back and dropped his hand from her arm.

"He kept his promise, although it entailed more than I was aware of back then. He left me everything- the shop and the apartment above it that he used to live in. He owned the building. His books, his collection… and a savings account. The bastard had instructed a lawyer to give me a letter after… He told me to rename the store- it was called _Bertram's Books_ before and he had already talked to Uncle Q- _no need for unnecessary sentimentalities_ he had written. He also thanked me for the time we had spent together, for taking care of him when he was sick and… well, stuff like that."

She cleared her throat again, took the last two books out of his hand and shoved them deftly back into the shelf, breaking the spell. Even though he still had questions, he decided to drop the subject, not wanting to upset her further.

"So, out of professional interest- did you manage to diagnose that woman yesterday?"

Claire shot him a knowing but thankful look at his change of topic.

"I don't know if you could really call it a diagnose. It's not as straightforward as that. But yes, I found some books, and they seem to work well- she called this morning, and she was crying."

Her slightly sarcastic tone made him laugh. Her smile, if still a little wobbly at the edges, was back to its usual mirth.

"So, who was her type then? If Nick Jordan was so unsuitable." He added as she gave him another one of those odd looks. She frowned again, and gave him the names of a few authors he knew by name, but had never read. "If you don't mind me asking- how do you do it? You know, from one colleague to another…." Carlisle added with a smile. The small smile from yesterday reappeared at that. So he had assumed correctly: His comparison of their work pleased her, even if she did not want to show it.

Claire sighed and brushed a hand through her hair. The air stirred, and he smelled violets and the unidentifiable sweet scent he had detected yesterday.

"Well, for the most part, it's simply instinct. You can't do this job without a healthy dose of intuition." Carlisle nodded. "The rest is simply a matter of asking the right questions and connecting the dots, watching body language, or even the way someone talks." She frowned. "It's hard to explain."

"What was the first thing you noticed about that woman, yesterday?"

She thought about that for a moment. "Hm… She apologized a lot. When she came through the door, she apologized for interrupting me, even though I was not doing anything. Then, her clothes: expensive and tasteful, but her posture didn't fit. Her shoulders were constantly drawn up, as if she was waiting to be attacked. Her thumbs were tugged away neatly in her hands. There was just a lot of tension. She styled herself to look a certain part, but simultaneously felt she took up too much space. Her eyes really told the rest. Her heart was broken, but there was more to it than that, her problem was not only that particular man, but rather-"her explanation was cut short by his beeper.

He quickly scanned the message. Nothing urgent, but he realized that he had been gone for almost half an hour, and it was time to head back. Claire waved his apologies away.

"Stop apologizing and go, you've got more important things to do than listen to my rambling." He wanted to protest, but she laughed. "Off with you! I can't slack all day either, you know. Oh, and thanks. For the cupcake."

On his way back to the hospital he went through all the answers he had gotten. Her unusual upbringing explained why she seemed older than she actually was. Not only that she had left her parents and was raised by an uncle who was not exactly predestinated to raise a child, she also had left her home to build a life here, where she knew no one but a sick, elderly man she had apparently nursed as well. And now she was – as he assumed- single-handedly running her own business as well.

Again, he wondered what she had meant when she had said her parents were not fit to care for her any longer. This "Uncle Q" seemed to be a rather illustrious personality. Despite her story, she seemed happy and balanced. And curiously confident, without seeming conceited. Carlisle found her open honesty refreshing. Most people, Carlisle had found, usually felt either self-conscious when they were asked about themselves, or they used the opportunity to show off. Claire didn't seem to fall into either camp. She had simply answered his questions, without apologizing for boring him, as most women did, nor had she to show off, as was the habit of most men. And because of that, he rather liked talking to her.

He wondered if she regretted leaving London.

With a sigh, he walked back into the hospital. He had gotten answers, but now he had even more questions.

Jennifer, the girl working at the front desk, greeted him enthusiastically, and he returned her greeting with a small nod. _Maybe_ , Carlisle thought, _it was time for a new break routine._


	3. Hermits and Serial-Daters

Claire glanced at the clock for the fourth time in the last thirty minutes. _Quarter to two_ , she noted with silent relief, but also a little disappointment. Both feelings were tied to the absence of a certain doctor- and the latter was entirely unwelcome. Being disappointed that Carlisle Cullen had not come in today was the _opposite_ of a good idea, Claire knew. Her strict policy was never to get involved with customers. Her libido didn't wholeheartedly agree with that policy unfortunately, so she had to be on guard, especially with men like him. She consoled herself with the fact that the disappointment she felt was strictly professional. _Mostly_. The tiny part of her that was disappointed for a different reason was probably inevitable, Claire reasoned with herself. He _was_ gorgeous, and she _was_ only human after all.

Annoyed, she put down the book down harder than necessary. A customer glanced up, then went back to his book with a shrug. Most of the tables were vacant by now, only three of her regulars were still in. Emily was hiding in _Narnia_ in the corner. A normal Wednesday in her shop. Her phone buzzed next to her.

 _'I'll get the food, you'll get the wine. See you at 6 xx'_

Claire punched in a reply and glanced at the clock again. _Ten to two_. She reminded her customers that she was closing up in ten minutes, and told Emily to get ready. The doorbell rang and Kat rushed in.

"Hey Claire. Sorry I'm late. Dad says hi. He's sorry he couldn't make it."

"No worries, you're right on time," Claire replied, and then tried to keep her voice even." Tell your dad I said hi, and that he shouldn't worry. He doesn't _need_ to come in every day."

The corners of Kat's mouth curled down slightly, but she nodded. Recently Kat had started to try and play matchmaker. Claire suppressed a sigh. She loved the girls, and she liked Alex, their father, but that was it. Even worse than Kat's clumsy attempts at getting them together was that Alex didn't seem to mind them, using excuses to come into the shop or to call her, something that made Claire increasingly uncomfortable. She'd tried to let him down subtly, to no avail. She really did not want to hurt his feelings, because he and his daughters had lived through enough already, but if he didn't back down soon, Claire would have to talk to him. She glanced over at Kat, who was prying the book out of Emily's hands.

Emily's older sister was fourteen, tall and gangly, with short curls that she constantly brushed behind her ear. She'd cut it off herself seven months ago. Back then, Kat had desperately wanted to be a boy and to run off and have adventures. Then a new boy had moved to town, and now Kat _desperately_ wanted to be a woman. She'd started to let her hair grow again; the curls reached slightly past her chin now. She'd also asked Claire to show her how to do her make-up, and Claire had made up some flimsy excuse why she couldn't. More bonding time with the girls seemed cruel, when their wished were so apparent.

After the girls had said goodbye and all the customers had left the shop, Claire locked up and headed down the street. She was still thinking about Kat's recent change of mind and had to suppress a smile. Of course, Kat didn't have a _crush_. Claire remembered how earnest her face had been when she had confessed to her that she was in love with Jasper Hale.

Kat had seen him in a store shortly after he and his family had moved here, and that had been it. Only that there was an obstacle that stood in the way of their love. _Not the fact that he was five years older than her_ , _and she herself still a child_ , Claire thought bemused. No, the obstacle was Alice Cullen. Now, Kat was pestering her about romance novels, and talked about how there always was a vicious woman standing in the way of the heroine. But in the end, true love would win, and the heroine would get the hero, right? Claire had refrained from answering and had given her _Skylight Confessions_ to read instead.

Claire entered the store and picked up a basket, absentmindedly filling it with things she needed. In her mind she could still hear how anguished Kat had sounded when she had found out that Jasper Hale was dating Alice Cullen.

"They're _brother and sister_!" Kat had complained as she had rushed into the _Pharmacy_ , the day after she had first seen him.

"They're not, Kat."

"They're adopted siblings!"

Claire had tried to explain the situation to Kat. That Doctor Cullen was Rosalie and Jasper's uncle, and that he had gotten custody over them after his sister had passed away. But since he was just finishing up in medical school, a foster family took care of Rosalie and Jasper until he was able to start his career. This family, or rather, the older couple that took the Hales in temporarily, was also taking care of Alice and Emmett at the time, and then the inevitable had happened. Rosalie and Emmett as well as Jasper and Alice had fallen in love, and Doctor Cullen had decided to take in the other two as well. Since he already was the legal guardian of Rosalie and Jasper, an adoption was not necessary, but he did adopt Alice and Emmett.

"So they didn't grow up as siblings. They met when they were sixteen." Of course, that explanation was unsatisfactory to Kat, and by extension, the whole town. Rumors were flying high even before they had actually shown up. Everyone and their grandmother knew about Doctor Cullen and his strange family, even those who didn't particularly care for gossip, like Claire. Lou, whose sister Jen worked at the front desk of the hospital, had called her immediately to share all the news about the newcomers _. Rich, beautiful and a bit strange- the hottest news the town had gotten since sliced bread_ , she thought wryly.

Now, six months later, the excitement had died down only minimally. Most people shared the sentiment that the relationships between the kids were – politely phrased- strange, but Claire couldn't understand all the fuss. Maybe it was because she hadn't grown up in such a small town, but she thought it was nobody's business who someone else loved. And Claire knew out of experience that families and love sometimes came in unconventional ways, but that didn't mean they were worth any less.

She finished her shopping and went home. _No, their relationships aren't strange_ , she thought, _but everything else about them is_.

Until two days ago, the Cullens hadn't really occupied her mind. She'd heard the rumors, of course, but they didn't interest her. She'd even seen Doctor Cullen in the hospital once or twice when she'd delivered books or went to read to Maisie Fitzgibbons. She'd seen Alice too, the smaller of the two girls, but she'd never talked to either of them. But that was exactly the thing that was so strange- there were five of them, but nobody ever saw them _anywhere_ , except Doctor Cullen when he was at work. Alice and Emmett sometimes came to town, but Rosalie and Jasper almost never left the big house up in the woods they had renovated.

There were rumors that the Hale twins had a rare disease that made them susceptible to sunlight.  
"Some form of albinism I suppose," Lou had guessed one evening, "They _are_ awfully pale, and their hair is light too. Doctor Cullen is pale as well, but maybe it's skipped him. Who knows?" Claire had jokingly suggested that they might be vampires, which had earned her a punch against the shoulder and the complaint that she was reading too many fantasy novels.

But their seclusion wasn't the only strange thing about them, she noticed. Especially now that she had actually met one of them, that she had seen Doctor Cullen, she was curious. His ridiculous beauty aside, he was so _young_. She'd wondered about that before, but she'd only ever seen him from far away. Now, up close, she wondered _how_ old he really was. He certainly didn't look old enough to be working as a doctor for long. Maybe he had just finished up his residency at another hospital and had moved here to start his career. _But that doesn't fit with Jen's reports about how happy the hospital had been to secure him…_ And since when can a single man, just at the start of his career, simply adopt two children? _Then again, they were nearly of age and nobody else wanted them probably…_ Claire pondered the situation while she unlocked the door and hoisted her bags up the stairs to her apartment.

She quickly changed into some old clothes, put the groceries away and carried the wine as well as some glasses down into the store. She'd closed earlier today to clean the shop and take inventory, glad that she could recruit Lou and Haley to help her later on. She missed her girlfriends. If all three of them weren't so busy with their own lives, she thought, maybe she wouldn't feel the need to dump her story on strange, handsome doctors that wandered in her shop.

With a groan she remembered how she had just spilled her story to him yesterday. After he had left, she had felt embarrassed about it, but then she had stopped herself. He _had_ asked her after all, so she wouldn't feel sorry about answering. What still troubled her was how easily she had told him everything.

But he was a good listener, which was only natural considering his job, and she had been lonely. Lou and Haley were busy with their own lives, Alfred was gone, Uncle Q half a world away... And it had been so easy to talk to him. Now she only regretted that she hadn't asked him more about himself.

Not that she would have gotten anything out of him. Claire had already noticed that he had a habit of avoiding questions or answering them only vaguely. Maybe the rumors were getting to her head, but she was certain that he had something to hide. Not the kind of secrets people usually had, the kind you just didn't like to talk about, but rather the kind you absolutely _couldn't_ talk about.

Now that she had met one of them, she could understand why people were so obsessed with talking about them. Of course, there was his beauty, but there seemed to be an allure to him that went past mere attractiveness. _There was something about his eyes_ , she thought. Claire remembered the look in his clear dark eyes vividly: kind, wise and _old_. Too old for his young face. Then again, Alfred had once made a similar remark about her, even if she had never understood what made him think so.

She picked up one of the pillows that Emily had knocked to the floor when she had left. With a start, Claire remembered something. She straightened up and went over to the table Doctor Cullen had stood next to yesterday. Then she looked over and tried to read the sign that said _Library Books_. She squinted her eyes, but she could barely make out the _L_ , and she attributed that only to the fact the she _knew_ that it was an _L_ in the first place. True, her eyes weren't the best, but she doubted that even someone with 20/20 vision would be able to decipher the sign from this far away. _Which probably means I should get some new signs._

Still, he shouldn't have been able to read it from there. And she was certain that he hadn't wandered over to that part of the store. Just like she was sure that he had not been _in_ the store when she had told Florence that Nick Jordan wasn't her type, but he had quoted her nonetheless. _Or was he inside?_ No, she was sure he had come in later…

The shop phone interrupted her efforts to make sense of it. She wasn't absolutely sure that he _hadn't_ been there, but she _was_ sure he had something to hide. She picked up the phone and regretted it immediately when she heard Alex' voice.

It took her nearly five minutes to finish the conversation. He'd wanted to know if Emily had forgotten her hat, but even after Claire had reminded him that Emily hadn't _worn_ a hat today, he still didn't want to hang up. She'd told him she really needed to get to work and couldn't chat, which was as good as the truth.

With an annoyed huff she tied her hair up, put on some music and set to work. For three hours she worked tirelessly, carrying stacks of books, dusting shelves and cleaning the windows, using the work to distract her. She almost succeeded.

Recently Alex' advances left her feeling more and more irritated. Mostly that feeling was overpowered by guilt, but all she had done was take care of his daughters, and nothing more.

Claire sighed. It was situations like these that made her hate her job sometimes, even if she loved what she did. She knew she wasn't nearly as good as Uncle Q, but she liked to believe that she did some good in the world. The downside was that sometimes, customers mistook her friendliness and … _professional interest_ for something else. Some liked the attention she gave them when she tried to work out what they needed, some liked the feelings she was giving them through her books. And then there were those who were fascinated by the _idea_ of her. Those who looked at _Claire Deakin, literary pharmacist_ , and made her into an elaborate, magical fantasy, and not just a person with a weird way of selling books.

It had happened the one or the other time, and Uncle Q had warned her about it, but as it was the case with so many truths, she had to experience it first before she understood it.

Henry had called her _a chaos of beautiful contradictions._ At the time, she had been flattered, but something deep in her gut had felt unease at his words. The flattery had won out that day, and she had let him kiss her. It had taken half a year of hard lessons until she understood the unease. Today, all she could do was shake her head. _Who even_ says _something like that?_

Her hands stopped and fell into her lap. _Henry_. She hadn't thought of him in so long. With a start, she realized the date. 4th of September. A week from today they would have celebrated their second wedding anniversary.

"God, don't open that door," she mumbled to herself and stood. _No point dwelling on the past.  
_  
Claire dusted off her old, tattered pair of jeans and carried a stack of books to the back. After she sat them down on the table, her eyes automatically fell on her bare ring-finger. As always, she waited for the regret to kick in, and as always she felt relief mixed with a slight hint of guilt instead. If you asked Lou, she had done the unthinkable, but Claire knew she had done the right thing when she had refused Henry when he had asked her to marry him.

The doorbell rang in the front room, followed by Lou's loud voice.

"Dinner's ready!"

Claire shook herself out of her reverie and walked back into the front room, where Haley and Lou were already spreading a tablecloth over the table she had cleared earlier.

"Thank god, I'm starving," she said as she went over to hug both of them.

" _Please_ tell me you're done already, so all we have to do is sit down, eat, drink wine and talk about Lou's newest hunk", Haley said hopefully as she pulled the Chinese take-out out of the bag.

"I'm afraid not, sorry," Claire said as she went to lock the door, ignoring Haley's and Lou's groaning, "But I got most of it done, so we've got time for food and a glass of wine first, as well as the hunk. I want details!"

"Are you sure about that? She already told me a bit and I'm sure I'll be having nightmares for the rest of the week," Haley complained. Lou snorted.

"What I told you was completely tame."

"For _your_ standards."

Claire smiled to herself and left them to their bickering as she collected some pillows from the couches they could sit on, as well as the wine, glasses and some candles she had stowed in the back room. Lou took care of the wine as Claire lit the candles, then all three women looked down at their impromptu dinner table.

Lou threw her hands up in the air. "See, two minutes of minimal effort and you've got yourself a romantic setting. What's so hard about this that men can't do it?"

Haley shook her head. "This is _so_ nice, but can we please start drinking? I'm getting kind of depressed here that you two out of all people are my main source of romance right now."

Claire and Lou protested loudly at that, but sat down and took up their glasses.

"Did you hear that Claire? _You two out of all people_. Care to explain?"

Haley rolled her eyes. "It means that if I would look up the word _Romance_ in a dictionary, I wouldn't exactly find _your_ pictures next to it. Now, _Hermit_ or _Serial-dater_ on the other hand…"

Claire and Lou started talking at the same time.

"Serial-dater, me? That's just ridiculous! I haven't dated anyone in over a year! I don't know how..."

"Hermit? How can I be a hermit if I went out on a date just yesterday, and on Monday, and…"

They protested some more until Haley thumped her forehead against the table and begged them two stop, which sent Claire and Lou into a fit of giggles. Lou patted Haley's head that was still resting between fried noodles and Gong Bao Chicken.

"Three more weeks, and Finn will be back from New York, honey. You'll get through this."

Haley sat up with a sigh. "I know. Okay, I'm desperate. Let's get right to the details."

Lou didn't need to be asked twice. Half an hour and a bottle of wine later, with flushed cheeks from alcohol and helpless giggling over Lou's stories, they threw out the empty boxes and got to work. They chatted amiably in between as they cleaned shelves and sorted books, but at some point Claire's thoughts went back to Henry.

"Claire? Everything alright?"

"Hm?" She turned around to see Haley holding up a book she had apparently asked about. "Oh, sorry, I was being a space cadet there. Um, that goes over there."

"So, where in space were you exactly?" Haley asked after she had put the book away. Claire suppressed a sigh.

"Henry." At their surprised looks, she said: "I don't even know why, I just suddenly thought of him in some inconsequential context and then I realized the date, and well…" She shrugged.

"Are you sad? Do we need more wine?" Lou asked, peeking around a pile of books.

"No, no, I'm not sad," Claire assured them. "I've told you a million times, I don't regret it. I still feel guilty though. And stupid, I suppose. I knew all along it wasn't right, but I didn't have the guts to tell him."

"Honey, you were twenty-one."

"That's not an excuse."

"But a good reason."

Claire bit back her answer. They had had this conversation so often already. And she knew they were right. _Rationally, at least_ … Too bad guilt liked to play deaf when rationality was speaking. She raised her hands. "Okay, okay. You're right."

"That's what I like to hear." Lou grinned, then she pulled over another pile of books. "Alright, now stop moping and let's get this over with. There's another bottle of wine that wants to be opened."

All three of them returned to their work. Claire watched Haley and Lou secretly while she worked. Both women were opposites in looks and temper, but she loved both of them equally. They were her friends since she had moved here, and she was so very grateful for their support, humour and unwavering loyalty. They had gotten her through the difficult time when Alfred got sick, and the even harder time after he had passed away. They had helped her to renovate the shop, in many nights like this one. And, like today, had reassured her again and again, that she shouldn't blame herself for what happened with Henry.

And maybe she really was too hard on herself. She _had_ loved him after all. _In a way, at least…._. If she was honest with herself, she had loved that he loved her. Or rather, that he loved the idea he had of her. What she _had_ loved was his family. His big, loud, tight-knit family. It wasn't hard to see why she had been drawn to him, practically an orphan herself, raised by a strange uncle. _Not an excuse, but a reason_ , she thought grimly. Yes, she had been only twenty-one. Twenty, when they had started dating. But she had known deep down that it wouldn't work, and that it was only her wish to belong somewhere that tied her to him. And nonetheless she had stayed with him for half a year, and broke his heart in the process. The memory filled her with shame.

It helped that she knew that Henry had recovered fully from the whole affair. In fact, he had married last June, and she was happy for him. She hoped that they both had learned from it. Claire certainly had. She was no longer hunting for a family, and it had humbled her own opinion of herself. She had thought that she was a person that instinctively did what was right, no matter how hard, and no matter how much she wanted something else. Now she knew that doing the right thing was not simply a character trait, but a choice one had to make over and over, every single day, every single moment, as long as one lived.

Twenty minutes later they had finished their work and gathered around their table again, opening the second bottle of wine. Haley grabbed a plastic bag she had shoved under the table and pulled out three cupcakes she had bought earlier across the street. Claire took hers, and promptly got frosting all over her fingers.

 _Just a precaution, in case I have a good hair day_.

"What are _you_ grinning about?"

She looked up and found Haley and Lou staring at her, eyebrows raised. She tried to reign in her grin, which promptly got bigger. _Stupid, traitorous mouth_!

"Just something I read in a book earlier." She lied smoothly. She didn't exactly want to lie, but Lou was an incorrigible gossip sometimes, and Claire knew neither of them would believe her entirely innocent – and truthful- answers, if only to tease her and fantasize a bit. Speculations and rumors about the Cullens were running high already, and Claire had no intentions of adding to them, so she deemed it wiser to avoid the topic of Carlisle altogether. _Not that there is much to tell_.

They both regarded her with suspicion. Lou put her finger to her chin. "Pray tell, when was the last time you talked to Alex?"

Claire took her time chewing her cupcake. When she was done, she kept her tone carefully even. " The last time I talked to _Mr. Stephens_ ," she emphasized the name and sent a pointed look to Lou, who rolled her eyes," was two days ago, when he came in to pick Emily up." Which was the truth, if you only counted actual face-to-face conversation. Another lie, but Kat wasn't the only person who thought that she and Alex would make a good couple. Lou only wanted to help her, but her good intentions were misdirected. It was easier not to give them any hope, so recently Claire had to dodge a lot of questions or bend the truth.

"And?"

"Nothing and."

Haley sighed and shook her head regretfully. "Forget it, Lou. You're fighting a lost battle. _Hermit_ , I'm telling you."

Lou threw her arms up theatrically. Claire could see she was picking up steam, so she put both her hands on Lou's shoulders. "Stop right there Lou, I am not drunk enough for the 'Claire-needs-to-date' debate. Please?"

"Hey, I'm not a dictator, okay? I'm not telling you you _need_ to date. But it's been over a year Claire. Time to come out of your shell. _God_ , at least find someone to work off a bit of steam with for once."

Claire grinned and slowly slid her hands down over Lou's shoulders. "Hey, don't tell me you're not willing to help out a friend."

Haley choked on her wine and started coughing so much that Lou had to whack her on the back, giggling the whole time. Once Haley was done with coughing, she lay back, panting heavily, which encouraged a comment from Lou that sent all of them into more fits of giggles. From then on, their conversation steered clear of Claire's love-life, something she was grateful for.

An hour later, Haley suppressed a yawn, and Claire stretched lazily, muscles tight from sitting in the same position for so long. Finally, Lou clapped her hands together and declared that it was time to head home, and they got up to clean up their mess.

"Oh, we forgot our fortune cookies!" Claire said and held them out.

Haley took hers, cracked it open, and read: " _If winter comes, can spring be far behind?"_

"See, I told you things will get better!" Lou said and punched Haley's shoulder. Claire grinned and cracked her cookie open.

" _A friend you make today might be the family you have tomorrow,"_ she read, and a small, involuntary shiver ran down her spine.

"That's sweet," Lou smiled and cracked hers open. _"A good way to keep healthy is to eat more Chinese food_." For a second, they stared at Lou's slip of paper, then up to Lou's mouth, hanging open in outrage, nobody saying a word. Then they all started laughing at once, not stopping before there were tears in their eyes and their stomachs hurt.

Half an hour later, the shop was cleaned and locked up and Claire sent the other two off with a hug. She watched them walk down the street, arms linked, swaying slightly. Lou's laugh drifted up the street before they rounded the corner, and a sad smile crept on her lips.

Claire climbed up the steps to her flat, her body humming pleasantly with the slight buzz of alcohol and an evening spent in good company. She undressed herself and showered quickly to get the dust off of her, then she pulled on her oldest pair of pajamas and threw her jeans into the hamper, but not before retrieving the little slip of paper she had stuffed in her pockets.

She smoothed it out carefully and put it on her nightstand before she buried herself beneath her pile of blankets.

 _A friend you make today might be the family you have tomorrow. What a nice thought._

She smiled slightly and drifted off into sleep. She wasn't thinking of Henry anymore.


	4. A Breath of Fresh Air

Sorry this took longer, but it is slightly longer too. We're slowly getting this on the road ;) This one's for Remmy94 and their review that made me do a little dance. 3 Also, thanks for all the follows, likes and reviews, it means a lot and I am glad you like this little story :)

* * *

Carlisle looked at the clock for the fourth time in the last thirty minutes. _Fifteen minutes_ , he noted with slight relief. Yesterday had been one of those days were Carlisle was glad about the fact that he didn't need to sleep. It was one of those days were everyone seemed to be sick or hurt. The ER had been overcrowded with crying children, desperate mothers, hurting humans. He'd spent fourteen hours stitching wounds, setting broken bones, prescribing medicine and three dozen other things all at once. Normally the stress of these situations didn't get to him. Quite the contrary, it usually made him feel more alive. It was easy for him to stay calm and focused, and he took pride in the fact that his composure helped the rest of the staff to keep a level head.

But yesterday, the stress had somehow gotten to him. By the time he had made it home his whole body had been tingling with irritation. His family hadn't said anything, but he'd felt them exchange looks as he headed up the stairs with a murmured _Hello_. The sound of the badly needed shower hadn't been loud enough to drown out the buzzing of voices from downstairs. Of course they knew what had transpired; Alice would have told them. What had confused them was his strange mood. _Maybe Alice had foreseen that too_. But she wouldn't know the reason behind it. Jasper and Edward didn't have any more success either, because he couldn't explain his irritation either.

He'd felt a wave of calm come over him, and his muscles relaxed for the fraction of a second. But then, against his nature, he'd pushed back against the feeling. Jasper was trying to help, probably even unconsciously so- he couldn't help but trying to change the emotional climate around him. Normally Carlisle admired his talent and accepted Jasper's – in his case rarely needed- help. But yesterday it had felt intrusive to him, and only irritated him further.

After the shower, he'd holed himself in in his study, and the others gave him the space he needed. He'd done some paperwork, both professional and personal, but his attention span had been awfully short. After an hour or so, he'd gotten up and scanned his bookshelves. He stood there motionless for half an hour, but he couldn't find any volume that caught his interest. There were few fictional works to be found in his shelves, most of them were related to his work or other scientific interests. The fictional books he had looked well-worn though, and he'd read them so often that he knew them by heart. Still, he couldn't remember the last time he'd actually pulled them from their shelves.

Then he'd reached up, pulled one of them from the shelves, and read until the sun had come up and it was time for his next shift.

Twenty minutes later Carlisle changed out of his white coat and put his bag in his Mercedes, and headed into town. Last night, between the pages of A Tale of Two Cities and the faint buzz of his still lingering irritation, he'd made a decision.

Through the window he could see Claire sitting on the counter, reading a book, the store seemingly empty except for Mighty Em who was lost in Narnia again. When he entered and the bell rang, Claire looked up and her heart stuttered once. She looked surprised and not altogether pleasantly so, Carlisle thought. Had he come in too fast and startled her? He thought he had used his normal, human speed…

Claire recovered quickly and hopped from the counter, her usual smile back in place.

"Good afternoon, Doctor Cullen."

He returned the greeting with a smile and held up the paper bag.

"Don't worry, I am prepared."

Claire laughed and took the paper bag with a small curtsy and a thank you.

"You're welcome. I hope you're not allergic." He gestured to the cupcake she was inspecting, and she shook her head.

"No allergies. But isn't it kind of irresponsible of you to give me a cupcake? Shouldn't you rather hand out carrots and ban our saltshakers, _Doctor_ Cullen?"

"Well, low blood sugar isn't to be taken lightly either, so it _should_ be okay." He smiled and added: "And please, call me Carlisle."

She returned his smile with a small nod and said: "Well, I can't promise anything since you are so doctor-y all the time, but I'll try."

He laughed. "Doctor-y?"

"Yeah, making sure I'm not allergic, saving my blood sugar from crashing… And you've got this… _analyzing_ _look_. Always looking for symptoms and explanations. You ask a lot of questions. Just very… doctor-y." She explained with a wave of her hand as she hopped back on the counter and began to pick her cupcake apart.

"You don't need to bring me cupcakes though, I hope you realize I _was_ joking. Between the two of us- and don't repeat this under any circumstances- but it's usually wise not to take half of what I say seriously." She said in a mock-whisper between bites.

Carlisle suppressed a smile and shook his head.

"It was very necessary. As you said, your blood sugar _was_ dangerously low. I, too, take my job very seriously. I took a vow, you know," he said solemnly and Claire grinned.

"And there I thought you're only a Doctor because _somebody_ needs to take care of all the women that are left all-a-swoon in your wake. But you really _do_ care about the small people. Amazing."

At that he produced a sound that was a mix between snort and laugh that he hadn't ever heard coming from his mouth. Instead of making fun of it, Claire gave only a small smile and slid from the counter, brushing crumbs from her rose colored blouse. She looked contrite, but her eyes were glistening with mischief again.

"I am sorry, I shouldn't make fun of you like that. It's not nice. Nobody can help what kind of face they're burdened with."

"Burdened? Is it that grave?" he asked with a smile.

Claire studied him intently, with that piercing look she sometimes got that seemed to see right through him. "I bet it is," she murmured, all humor gone from her voice, replaced by curiosity. But before he could answer, her mirth reappeared and she shook her head theatrically.

"That grave? Of course it is! You're prettier than all my girlfriends together. It's _embarrassing_. And this is a serious accusation, you've never seen Haley."

He frowned. "Now that can't be true. Surely this is the half of the conversation were I'm not supposed to take you seriously?"

"I have never been more serious." She tried to look stern and her lips pressed together, but their corners twitched slightly.

He had less success in repressing his grin, so he crossed his arms. "You know, I've seen my face once or twice, and I haven't found anything impressive about it all."

"You should get a new prescription then. Your profile is more chiseled than Mount Rushmore!" Claire exclaimed and crossed her arms as well.

"Don't worry, Mister, she's only trying to tease you. She's doing that to entertain herself," Mighty Em piped up from the corner. They both turned to her and she regarded them with a look of great importance on her face.

Claire scowled, but she was clearly trying to suppress a smile. "Hey kiddo, watch it. If you keep on ruining my fun, I'm going to kick you out."

Mighty Em was unfazed by that threat. She put _Narnia_ to the side, looked at Carlisle and said in a matter-of-fact voice: "She likes to exaggerate."

"Yes, I noticed something like that," Carlisle laughed.

Claire narrowed her eyes at the girl and perched her hands on her hips. "Do you know what they do with traitors in Narnia?"

Emily looked down at the book and considered it for a second. When she looked up there was a decidedly mischievous glint in her eye that looked at lot like the look Claire had when she was teasing him. "They make them king!" Emily cried and grinned triumphantly.

Claire laughed and threw up her hands in defeat. "Oh, for crying out loud! Outwitted by an eleven year old!" She shook her head, but Carlisle thought that she looked somewhat proud as she turned away from the girl. Then she fixed him with a firm look, hands still on her hips, smile still on her face.

Her cheeks were the slightest bit flushed from laughing. At the sight of it, his baser senses kicked in- suddenly he was very aware of the smell of her blood that mingled with the dusty scent of the bookstore. Carlisle swallowed against the raw itch in his throat, suddenly unnerved. He- or rather _she_ \- was in no danger, he was still firmly in control. The scent didn't tempt him, but he still _noticed_. He was used to it- but somehow, right there in this bookstore, it deeply unsettled him.

His unease must have shown, because Claire's smile slipped from her face and was replaced with concern. "Are you alright?"

He cleared his throat and brushed his hair back as an excuse to look away. He took a second to collect himself, then he smiled at her. "Yes. I'm sorry, I was just lost in thought."

She didn't look convinced, but she didn't press it either. "Okay, uh, in that case, I'll stop pestering you and let you browse, or read or whatever you want, "she said and rubbed her neck, suddenly seeming to feel awkward.

"Actually," Carlisle said before she could walk away, "I need your help."

"Oh?"

"Yes. Well, you see, I was looking at my bookcases yesterday, and I realized that I haven't read anything non-medical for probably a century." She couldn't understand his joke, but his smile broke her tension nonetheless.

"I see. And what do you have in mind?"

" _A breath of fresh air_?" Carlisle quoted her, and Claire smiled that understated, pleased smile again. "Unless, of course, I made the mistake of any physician and was too quick in my self-diagnosis, and I am one of the category three patients that thinks he's a two. You're the expert."

She laughed quietly. "Well, that remains to be seen. I don't really know anything about you. And it hugely depends on what you want- a book, or a diagnosis."

He nodded. "What do you suggest? Do I display any symptoms?"

Claire studied him for a second, head tilted slightly, and for a second he suddenly felt nervous. Then she shook her head. "Nothing out of the ordinary, as far as I can tell. As you've said, you've only read scientific texts. And the literature you _have_ read- let me guess: Jules Verne and Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, your favorites. Dickens, Campbell, Faulkner and Dumas- those you liked. A bit Tolstoy and Dostojewski too, but you didn't really enjoy them- at least the parts about people, because it's too bleak for you, but you liked the historical aspects of it. You've read Shakespeare and Tolkien too, and liked them, but they didn't really touch anything inside of you."

Carlisle stared at her, slightly shocked. She'd missed Chaucer, but apart from that it was a spot on description of his reading history. She wasn't done however.

"I don't think it's just with reading where you concentrate on the medicine. Your profession is your entire life, apart from your family." She raised her hands and smiled. "Which is okay. I'm only observing, not judging. No offense intended."

"None taken." When she didn't continue, he laughed a shaky laugh and admitted: "That was… scarily accurate."

She laughed and brushed a strand of hair behind her ear, a bit self-conscious. "I know, it's weird. I can't help it."

Carlisle shook his head. "No that's fine, I _did_ ask after all," he reassured her. "Anything else?"

" I don't know, this is just the superficial things. There might be more, or not." She looked at him, curious. "Do _you_ feel like there's more?"

The question took him aback. Out of instinct, he wanted to say no. He was Carlisle, he was always fine. But then he remembered his strange dissatisfaction. Instead of a _No_ , he heard himself mutter: "Maybe?"

Claire didn't bet an eye at his strange answer but nodded knowingly. Then she clapped her hands together in the let's-get-to-business-manner he'd seen on her before.

"Well, in that case I think it's safest to start with a mild dosage of poetry for now. We'll see how you react to that, and if necessary, we'll move on to the harder stuff. Have you read Whitman? _Leaves of Grass_? "

"No, but I've read a quote or two."

Claire shook her head vigorously. "No, no, no. That's like taking a tenth of a pill and hoping that it'll still have the full effect." She went over to a shelf and pulled out a small volume and took it to the counter. There she picked up a small card of white, pressed paper and wrote in a fluid, pretty hand the instructions she explained aloud to him at the same time. "There are more poems in this, but I mainly want you to read _The Song of Myself_. Read it slowly. I _mean_ that. Carefully. Like you have to chew each word before you swallow it. Either very early in the morning, or at night. If you can only read during the day, either do it outside or go for a walk afterwards. No more than six pages per day. And if something moves or inspires you in any way, write it down. I know, a lot of people see that as a sacrilege, but I want you to write in this book. Work with it. Make notes, mark the passages that move you…." She finished the note, blew on it to dry the ink and slipped it in the book. Then she pushed it towards him and looked him in the eye. "If you do that and find anything you want to talk about or any ideas to work with, I might be able to help you with whatever might or might not ail you."

He nodded, still fascinated with her earnestness when it came to books. "You've read it?"

A small self-deprecating smile appeared on her face. "It's my favorite."

"Oh." She'd noted that he asked a lot of questions, but he couldn't resist his curiosity. "Why, if I may ask?"

She shrugged and looked at a point somewhere over his right shoulder, eyes unfocussed. "Because... He weaves words into magic. I don't know how often I've read it, and I find something new in it every single time I pick it up. And no matter how bad or lost I've felt, he's always managed to console me and to give me hope."

They both were silent for a moment, Claire lost somewhere in space, Carlisle lost in her words. Then his phone buzzed and both jumped slightly. He apologized as he fished his phone from his pocket while Claire rang up the book.

It was a text from Alice, sent to their group chat that Emmett constantly renamed _The Immortal Meme Team_ whenever somebody tried to change the name.

 _Suns out in ~15 min- time to get shady! xx_

He suppressed a sigh and slid his phone back without a reply. Hiding from the sun was one of the annoyances of his life- although it had certainly gotten a lot easier since Alice had appeared in their lives. Carlisle often wondered how Amun or his other friends that lived near the equator managed to remain sane. He paid for the book and buried his hands in his jacket.

"Well, I'm needed at home, so I better get going. But thank you for your help- I promise I'll follow your instructions."

Claire laughed. "Very responsible. Well, I hope you enjoy it. And if there's nothing in there that speaks to you, don't worry about it either, sadly- and if you repeat this, I will deny it and tell people that you are an axe-murderer on the run- I am not infallible."

" I won't utter a word." He said with a smile and crossed his heart with the book. With a last nod he slipped out of the store and hurried down the street, but he was sure he'd heard her sigh quietly.

Alice was, of course, right. Just as Carlisle was pulling from the parking lot of the hospital, the sun broke through the last clouds. The windows of his Mercedes were tinted so the rays couldn't touch his skin, but he felt the warmth nonetheless. For a second he relished it, and took a deep, unnecessary breath. The fresh air cleared the last traces of smell from his nose, replacing the Pharmacy's smell with new leather, metal and gasoline.

The olfactory change reminded him of the tense moment in the shop. There was no time then, but now, as he was heading home, Carlisle replayed the scene in his head, hoping to discern why he'd been so unsettled by it all.

Of course he had smelled her blood the first time he had entered the shop. The scent was strong, and pleasant too, but no more appealing than most blood. Sweet and slightly floral, mixed with the violet and citrus smell that emanated from her hair, and the strong, dusty scent of the shop. Very pleasant, but certainly not mouthwatering. Her blood didn't call to him any more than the blood of others did.

Certainly it had to do with the fact that he needed to hunt soon. Carlisle's control of his thirst was by now far- famed, and he was proud of it. Which didn't mean- as so many assumed- that he did not _feel_ the thirst, and while he was usually able to drown out the call of the blood by focusing on the things that were actually important, it certainly got louder the longer he went without hunting.

This was normal- in fact, on three other occasions today his ears had focused on the throb of a heart, or his nose lingered on some faint trail of blood. It happened, but it was no threat to his control. Carlisle had learned to live with it, and it didn't worry him. He _was_ a vampire, and he could only forgo his nature so much.

And with a start he realized that that was exactly what had shocked him so. Because at that moment, he had been so focused on their conversation, so preoccupied with keeping up with her quick wit, that he'd _forgotten_. For a second, Carlisle had forgotten that he was a vampire, something that never happened. Because he couldn't. He needed to be aware of what he was, so he could stay in control.

The hospital was his refuge, but there was blood everywhere, and he could never forget _what_ he was, or he could risk losing _who_ he was.

And there, for a second in that bookstore, he had been just _who_ he was. He'd just been Carlisle. And then he'd smelled her blood, and just the fact that he _could_ had been enough to shatter the illusion.

The steering wheel gave a slight squeak beneath his tense hands, and he quickly loosened his grip. He could feel the dents his fingers had left in the material. He let out a shaky breath, suddenly gripped with an onslaught of conflicting emotions he couldn't make sense of. He didn't try to, knowing instinctively that he wouldn't succeed.

The car before him braked suddenly and he reacted quickly, the force making the copy of _Leaves of Grass_ slide forward next to him.

He turned onto the small road that lead to their main house and had to laugh quietly as he remembered how outraged she had sounded.

 _Your profile is more chiseled than Mount Rushmore!_

Normally Carlisle disliked people who constantly made fun of others, but she teased him with such open relish that she never came across as mean or arrogant. Especially because she took swings at herself too, and, as Mighty Em had phrased it: _She liked to exaggerate._ In fact he found her unrestrained teasing refreshing. Most people tended to be intimidated by him, but not Claire. The only two people who dared to talk to him in such a way were Emmett and Garrett. Somehow he had the feeling the three of them would get along well.

He reached the small paved yard that stretched in front of the house. Rosalie and Jasper were both out in the sun, apparently working on their motorcycles. Jasper was holding on up with one of his hands and handing Rose things with the other. Both stopped their work as he parked, and stood.

"You're late." Rose noticed as she wiped her hands on her already oil-stained jeans. It was simply a remark, but Carlisle suddenly felt defensive. I murmured something inconsequential, and nodded towards the bikes.

"Planning a trip?"

Rose shrugged. "Not really, just tinkering and enjoying the sun."

Then he noticed that the house was silent. Jasper felt his confusion.

"The others left this morning, Bella couldn't wait any longer. They're going south of Phinney Ridge. Alice gave us a go for our original trip though."

"Oh, okay. Was Bella alright? She pushes herself too far." Carlisle said. This weekend was going to be sunny, and they had all planned take one of their hunting trips some hundred miles to east, to give the local fauna some time recuperate. Bella had said she could last long enough- and while her control got stronger with every month, she still needed to hunt more frequently than the rest of them. They kept on reassuring her that these things took time, but because she had nothing to compare it to, the two years that she had been a vampire seemed long enough to her, and she felt like she was too weak, which constantly led her to underestimate her thirst.

"Apart from her pride she was fine," Jasper replied with a slight smile. He didn't try to show it, but he was pleased that he wasn't the only one struggling anymore.

"And why didn't you two go with them?"

Rose shrugged. "Well, you still need to work tomorrow, and we didn't want to let you go alone. Jazz and I are good for another day or two. And besides, it's _nice_ to have some peace and quiet now and then." They all laughed at that.

"Well, I'll leave you to it- enjoy the sun while it lasts. I need to get some paperwork done." He said and headed towards the house.

Rose watched Carlisle disappear inside the house. She and Jazz worked silently, both listening to his steps as he headed up the stairs and down the hall. After they heard his office door shut with a soft thud, she peered over the motorcycle and whispered: " _And?"_

Jazz frowned. " _Hard to say. Happier, yes, but conflicted, too. There was a lot going on, but he's repressing most of it."_

" _So, nothing._ "  
He shrugged, not overly bothered. " _Since I don't know what I'm looking for, I can't say."_

" _Alice really hasn't told you anything?"_

" _Again_ , no. _Not more than she told you."_

Rosalie frowned and picked up the ratchet. This morning, two minutes after Carlisle had left the house, Alice had called all of them to an emergency meeting. All she said was that it was important that they did what she told them to, and that it was about Carlisle. Then she and Edward had one of their annoying silent conversations, until Edward apparently surrendered. Alice had declared that she, Emmett, Edward and Bella were going to go on an earlier hunting trip, and that they were leaving _now_. She'd send them ahead, and told Rose and Jasper what they were supposed to tell Carlisle. Then she'd dragged Jasper off with her for a private goodbye, leaving Rose alone. He'd reappeared a few minutes later and said that Alice had given him instructions to watch Carlisle's mood closely and to report to her once she got back, and that they were supposed to keep him out of town until Sunday evening.

Jasper always blindly followed where Alice led him, his trust in her visions was unshakeable. Rose trusted Alice's visions too, but that didn't mean she wasn't annoyed when she sprung her crazy secret schemes on them like that. Still, Alice was usually right. And Ashe had promised that it would help Carlisle with whatever he was going through, and Rose wouldn't stand in the way of that.

She glanced up to the windows of Carlisle's office. She hoped Alice plan- whatever it was- would work.


	5. All Goes Onward And Outward

Hey there! Bear with me for a minute before we get back to the story. First off, sorry for the delay in posting, I am without internet at the moment and just started a new job, so life kinda gets in the way. These past weeks I wrote a lot for this fic, but something was off. I needed to rework a lot, but I'm happy with what I've got now. And thanks so much for all the lovely reviews, likes and follows :)  
The second thing is something I've been asked in a review, that I thought I should address for everyone, which was this: _So, does that mean that Carlisle doesn't realize Claire is his mate?_ To which the short answers is No, because she isn't his mate. _Yet_. I'm probably in the minority with this, but I never understood mate as a synonym for soulmate, but rather just a neutral word to call you significant other because " _Hey, I'm 468 years old, you've been around for two millenia, so calling you my boyfriend seems weird, and life partner stops being funny after the 13th time_ " I'm really not all that big on soulmates anyways. So no, Claire isn't Carlisle's mate, in that sense. I like to see my character actually falling in love, by getting to know each other, instead of a magical _Zing!_ moment. ( And yes, that's a _Hotel Transylvania_ reference) Two more things I got asked on AO3 I'll adress: No, you didn't miss Claire's physical description. Her looks are not important for this fic, so I like to keep it vague so everyone can imagine her the way they want to. And yes, I'll cover the alternate E/B story, but all in due time. Last but not least, a slight 'warning': I've decreased the vampires senses, they're more oriented on _Twilight_ rather than Bella's experiences in _Breaking Dawn_. It's actually pretty annoying for a writer if your characters can hear and see perfectly for several miles ;)  
Alright, speech over! I'll try to post more frequently from now on, but I can't promise anything. I won't abandon this story though, promise. xx Ginster

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Carlisle shut the door of his office quietly behind himself. Sunlight was pouring in through the windows, and the air, stirred by his entrance, swirled through the room, making the dust particles shimmer golden in the light. For a moment he watched their dance, taking the time to enjoy the small spectacle.

He set his bag down next to his desk, shrugged out of his jacket and went to open both windows wide. Below he could see Rosalie and Jasper, still engrossed in their work and murmuring quietly, the metallic clinking of their tools the only sound disrupting the silence that surrounded the house.

He hadn't lied when he had said that he still needed to work, but instead of pulling out his paperwork, he grabbed the small book and pulled his armchair over to the window. Carlisle sat down in the sunshine and opened _Leaves of Grass_.

The note Claire had written fell into his lap, sending a small waft of her scent into the air. Carlisle picked it up with a smile, and read the instructions again.  
 _  
No more than six pages, read slowly, surround yourself with nature_.

He glanced out of the window at the sea of leaves that surrounded the house, and the small cleft the road cut through the trees that allowed a view of the small town down in the valley below. It was still warm, but the odd leaf here and there had started to change its color already. The sun warmed his skin and sent prisms of light dancing across the walls, a soft breeze blew in through the window, carrying with it the earthy smell of the woods and the river that flowed down the mountainside half a mile away.

 _Not exactly_ in _nature, but surrounded nonetheless_ , he mused. But if he left the house, Rose and Jazz would ask questions he had no answer to. If he could find and remedy the source of his restlessness without involving his family and leaving the wrong impression of dissatisfaction with _them_ , he would have to hurt nobody, Carlisle had decided. So his study would have to do.

Normally he shared everything with his family- freely, even if none of them had much of a choice when it came to privacy, with the various talents his family possessed. But today, he had a choice, with Edward and Alice gone, and Jasper unable to discern the reason behind his emotions. Of course they were aware that something was bothering him, but if he could solve the problem over the course of this weekend, he would not need to compromise anyone with his problems. Carlisle still was not entirely sure what his problem actually _was_ , but his intuition told him that Claire and her books could help him. _Even doctors need to visit a doctor now and then_ , he thought with a bemused smile.

He tucked the note behind the last page and crossed his legs. After slipping his finger behind the sixth page, he began to read.

 _I celebrate myself,  
And what I assume you shall assume,  
For every atom that belongs to me as good belongs to you…_

Carlisle straightened up slightly as he read. He could easily see the sense behind Claire's instructions now. Whitman's style was hypnotizing; the slow, lilting cadence of the words spellbinding. _He weaves words into magic_. Whitman described the air around him, how it mixed with his breath, the sounds carrying towards his ears… Before Carlisle knew it, he had to turn the page. He stopped himself and returned to the first sentence, deliberately slowing his pace. He took each word in with care, like Claire had ordered him to do.

 _I celebrate myself…. And everything else, too_ , Carlisle thought. _A hymn to life_. The words pulled him in, and before long he felt like he was floating in a sea of syllables, suspended in a soft nothingness where time was inexistent.  
 _  
I have heard what the talkers were talking… the talk of the beginning and the end,  
But I do not talk of the beginning or the end._

Clear and sweet is my soul… and clear and sweet is all that is not my soul.

On page three Carlisle noticed that he was softly reciting the verses as he read.

Apart from the pulling and hauling stands what I am  
Stands amused, complacent, compassionating, idle, unitary.

I believe in you my soul… the other I am must not abase itself to you,  
And you must not be abased to the other.

A slight shiver ran through his body at these words, and he felt like his heart- frozen for nearly four centuries- ought to be racing in his chest. His eyes swept across the next words and his breath caught in his throat.

All goes onward and outward. Nothing collapses.  
And to die is different from what any one supposed, and luckier.

Involuntarily and entirely uncharacteristically, his hands started to shake. He tried to make sense of the hollow feeling in his stomach and the shiver that ran over his skin when he heard the front door shut quickly and heavy steps hurry towards his office, followed by softer ones. He barely managed to move some old files over the book before Jasper opened the door, a worried look on his face.  
 _  
_"Carlisle? Are you alright?"

He tried to rein his emotions in, and forced a shaky smile.

"Yes, of course." In his mind he could inexplicably hear how Claire would snort over how feeble his lie sounded.

Jasper did not believe him either, having felt the emotional upheaval. A frown creased his forehead. Rose, who was peering around his elbow from the hallway, didn't look convinced either.

"You were quite upset." A statement, not a question. He gave Jasper a reassuring smile, and used his best Doctor voice, because it helped him to focus. He waved towards the files on his desk, carefully nonchalant.

"I was reading some files of a particularly bad case. It was a long day, and it probably got to me. I'm sorry if I caused you any discomfort."

Jasper didn't seem convinced. He and Rose exchanged a quick glance that roused Carlisle's suspicion, but before he could say anything Rose pushed past Jasper, a tentative smile on her face.

"Maybe I could help you? Admittedly, my medical education is not exactly up to date, but it might help you to explain it."

"Ah- um, that's very kind of you to offer, but the case is quite clear you see." He quickly improvised a medical history with a mildly tragic background. "So you see, it wasn't professional despair, it was simply compassion. I can't help it any more than you, you see." He finished a bit awkwardly with a smile towards Jasper. _Too many details,_ someone whispered in his head.

Rose and Jasper exchanged another glance. Then the tension left Jaspers body, and he nodded.

"I see. In that case I'm sorry about your patient. Don't let it get to you too much, it's not your fault."

Carlisle nodded and apologized again. As Jasper disappeared into the hallway, the tension in his shoulders that he hadn't been aware he'd been holding disappeared.

Rose stepped through the door, but froze suddenly, hand on the doorknob. She turned back to him, a frown on her beautiful face. For a second she regarded him, apparently unsure of what to do. Then she seemed to come to a decision, and stepped back into his office with an expression on her face that managed to look like a cross of grim determination and worry.

"Carlisle I – No, we- I mean… "She huffed with irritation and fixed him with her almost black eyes. " Listen, I know I'm not exactly the person who should address this-"her sentence was cut short by the sudden ringing of her phone. Rose excused herself and frowned when she read the caller ID. After her greeting Carlisle could hear an exasperated sounding Alice.

" _Sorry to bother you Rose, I hope I'm not interrupting anything, but your husband is being completely unreasonable again. Unfortunately he's so much bigger than all of us, so stopping him from behaving like a five year old is kinda hard. Would you please care to explain to him –_ again _\- that pitting two bears against each other and letting them fight to the death to find out which one is the worthier snack is wasteful and plain_ stupid _?"_

Rose heaved a sigh just as they could hear Emmett shouting in the background: _"You gotta be kidding me, you said you liked_ The Hunger Games _! What's the difference?!"_

With a shrug, Rose left his study and quietly shut the door behind her. He stared at the door, a strange feeling about the whole encounter still lingering in his mind.

Carlisle listened to her walking down the stairs, arguing with Emmett on the phone. They fell into their usual, playful bickering quickly as he could glean from Rose's answers, and he couldn't help but smile. While it certainly was better to get far away if they _actually_ got into a fight, Rose and Emmett's verbal sparring was always entertaining to witness.

 _And to die is different from what any one supposed, and luckier._

His skin was still tingling, but the hollow feeling had subsided. Carefully he slid _Leaves of Grass_ out from under the files and picked it up again. He was almost at the end of page six now.

Has any one supposed it lucky to be born?  
I hasten to inform him or her it is just as lucky to die, and I know it.

I pass death with the dying, and birth with the new-washed babe…  
and am not contained between my hat and boots.

I am the mate and companion of people, all just as immortal and fathomless as myself;  
They do not know how immortal, but I know.

For a long time Carlisle stared at the last sentence, letting the words ring through his head. His body felt strange, almost weak, as if he was slowly dissolving, and yet at the same time an undercurrent of energy pulsed through his empty veins. He felt like he wanted to continue to read and run away at the same time. Wryly he thought that by all means he ought to look like his patients who were suffering from a high fever.

 _Apart from the pulling and hauling stands what I am… the other I am must not abase itself to you… I am not contained between my head and boots… and to die is different, and luckier. I am the mate and companion of people…They do not know how immortal, but I know… I know._

In his mind he could hear Claire again. _I want you to write in this book. Work with it. Anything that moves or inspires you in anyway…_ The slightly feverish feeling increased. It probably was reckless, but before he could make a conscious decision, his hand reached for a pen by its own will.

Outside, the sun was sinking behind the horizon as Carlisle bent the pen to the pages.

Claire rounded the corner and froze as she saw the girl standing in front of the _Pharmacy_. She had decided to make use of the unusually slow business and had closed the shop for an hour to go for a walk. Normally the store was quite crowded on Saturdays, but today everybody seemed to try and enjoy one of the last sunny days before the long winters that were so common here took hold of the land again.

The girl stood right in front of the door, studying the sign that Claire had hung there before she had left an hour ago. She was facing away from her; but despite never actually meeting her, Claire recognized the small frame that was unmistakably clad in an expensive coat, and the mob of short, spiky black hair. Apparently another Cullen had decided to visit the _Pharmacy._

Claire's stomach gave an uncomfortable lurch. As per usual, she had taken the Friday afternoon off, leaving the store in Kelsey's capable hands. When she had come down to help her lock up yesterday evening, Haley's younger sister had told her that a certain Doctor had been in and asked for her. Kelsey had told him she was not available and he had left without looking at any of the books.

Kelsey had met Carlisle already when she had been to the ER with a deep cut on her hand, so his looks were not as much of a shock to her. What _had_ been a surprise to her was that Carlisle had asked specifically for Claire. She had tried her best to sound normal and explain the situation, but despite her efforts she still had needed to field an interrogation by Haley once Kelsey had gotten home.

Hesitantly she started to walk again. So Carlisle had been in again yesterday, and asked for her, and today Alice decided to visit. An uncomfortable knot settled in Claire's stomach. _Is it happening again?_

Normally she wouldn't jump to any conclusions, but the past – or rather present, if you took Alex into consideration- experiences had made her wary. Carlisle had visited the _Pharmacy_ for the first time on Monday, and he had been in every single day except Wednesday. And normally she wouldn't even be concerned about that, except that somehow her brain circuits blew up as soon as he entered the room and she said the first thing that came to her mind. With a surge of embarrassment she remembered how she had curtsied on Thursday. She _really_ shouldn't be allowed to talk to people.

And now he had asked for her, because he probably thought that she had been flirting with him. Which she _had_ been, if she was honest, but it hadn't been different to the way she flirted with _everyone_. _Not much, at least_.

It wasn't that she thought she was irresistible. She knew she was funny, and while she certainly was no model, she liked her face well enough. She liked to think that she was smart and a good person. But she also could be quite annoying, and she had the tendency to be a smartass, as well as probably a thousand other annoying habits. Like only remembering to buy new shampoo when she already stood under the shower squeezing the empty bottle. Or how she was apparently incapable of minding her own goddamn business. _Cursing too much_ , she thought drily. Or reading the dialogue in books aloud. Or probably not washing her bras often enough. How often was one supposed to do that anyways? _Oh, right, also losing my train of thought completely,_ she added to the list.

No, while she wasn't as much of a human disaster as she could have been, she certainly wasn't the stuff of dreams either. A fact that her job seemed to cover up quite nicely. Her job wasn't ordinary, so people easily fell prey to the illusion that neither was she. Most of the time they were fascinated by her for a while, and moved on when they got a closer look. Sometimes, they took what they saw and simply incorporated it in the fantasy that actually had very little to do with Claire herself.

It had happened with Henry, back in London, and it had happened with Alex too. With Henry she had made the mistake to get involved and to try and believe his fantasy. She had thought that she had been avoiding that mistake with Alex. It might have worked- he wasn't overly moved by her job, and she had let her guard down. And then he had misinterpreted her compassion for his loss and her care for his daughters, and suddenly she had found herself in the same position as with Henry.

No, Claire did not think she was irresistible, because none of it was actually _about her_. But she was responsible for it nonetheless, so she would not make the same mistakes again.

Then again, maybe she was overreacting. Maybe he really had been running from the nurses, and then decided that he was missing something. Claire knew that he was, she just didn't know _what_ he was missing yet. Maybe Alice had come on her own terms. She hoped that she was simply being paranoid, for one because she _liked_ Carlisle and thought he was a smart man. If she was mistaken, she would be disappointed over her own misjudgment and the fact that she would have to stop talking to him.

And, if she was honest, a part of her hoped he saw nothing in her but a bookseller, because she started to feel like she was not worth much as a person _and_ as a woman, if all the men were ever interested in was the fantasy they created within the first five minutes of talking to her. It wasn't even about romance- she just wanted to feel like somebody wanted to get to know _her_.

Claire squared her shoulders and walked towards the _Pharmacy_. She could guess all she wanted- Alice was there nonetheless. All she could do was to use this opportunity to gather as much information as she could.

As she stepped into the shadow of the building, Alice turned towards her. Apparently she guessed who she was, because she pulled her hands out of her coat pockets and a huge pair of sunglasses from her smiling face.

She had only ever seen Alice Cullen from further away, and so she was surprised to see how small she was up close. Despite the warmth of the day, Alice wore a long coat and a thick scarf, the only inch of free skin was her face. A face so stupidly beautiful and perfect that Claire's greeting sounded vaguely breathless.

Her mind felt like it was doing cartwheels as she looked at the girl. No, she was sure that it was Alice and Emmett who had been adopted. But her extraordinary beauty was _so_ similar to that of Carlisle, that Claire suddenly wondered if she had gotten it wrong. Of course the whole town knew that all the Cullen-Hale's were beautiful, but this seemed to be something entirely.

Alice raised her hand in greeting. "Hi there! I suspect you're Claire?" Alice asked in a lovely, melodic voice. She nodded, a strange feeling in her stomach.

"Perfect, I was afraid I had missed you."

As Claire reached her, Alice looked her straight in the eye, her eyes the striking color of liquid honey. With a dazzling smile she struck out her pale hand. "I'm Alice. So pleased to meet you!"

She took Alice's hand. It was small, even compared to Claire's, but her grip was surprisingly sturdy and strong. What jolted Claire out of her surprised stupor was, however, its shocking temperature. Instinctively, she clasped Alice's hand between her own and rubbed the icy skin lightly. " _Wow_ , you're freezing! I hope you didn't have to wait too long?"

" Oh no, I just arrived a few minutes before you. I was lucky; my timing was impeccable." She trilled a pealing laugh.

Claire nodded and let go of Alice's hand. Haley and Lou always teased her about how she tended to jump into _Mama-Bear-Mode_ , but Claire couldn't help it. Living with Q and later Alfred had left its traces. "That's good then. Normally I don't close during the day, but nobody was in and I didn't want to miss out on the last rays of sun," she explained apologetically as she unlocked the door.

Alice followed her in with a smile. "Yeah, you really have to make the most of them while you can."

She nodded. "Especially here. I don't think I've had a proper tan since I moved here, and that's saying something since I used to live in London." She hesitated for a second, but Alice seemed a lot less reserved than Carlisle, so she thought she would take her chances and dig a little. "So, have you accustomed to the weather yet? You only just moved here after all." She shrugged out of her coat and made her way over to the counter.

Alice shrugged with a smile. "Well, we used to live near Seattle, so the weather wasn't all that different. A little wetter, maybe."

Claire knew that. She tried again. "Probably. Luckily we don't get that much rain here. Did you grow up there then?"

Something flickered in Alice eyes and she looked almost pleased as she smiled broadly. "Oh no. I grew up in Mississippi. I only moved to Seattle after Carlisle adopted me and my brother three years ago."

Claire smiled, eyebrows raised. "Wow, Mississippi. You must miss the sun."

Alice shrugged good-naturedly. "A little, yes. But I don't tan that much anyways."

Claire laughed. "I would never have suspected that." They grinned at each other, and Claire clapped her hands together. "Alright, give me a minute to get this show running and then I can help you."

Alice nodded in response, then she looked around and surveilled the shop with a critical eye that seemed unfitting for her age. "This place is lovely. I love the cluster of lamps. Are those vintage?"  
She pointed to some of the lampshades that had lit up as Claire had turned on the lights.

"Most of them, yes." The computer started with a low rumble and Claire slid out from behind the counter. "Alright, what can I do for you?"

" Save my relationship." Alice wrung her hands. "Okay, so: My boyfriend is reading _Game of Thrones_ right now, you see. He's halfway through book five- and he's successfully avoided the show so far. He's actually banned me from talking about it, because I know what's going to happen. The boys are camping this weekend, and he's left his copy at home- where I just spilled coffee all over it by accident. He's going to be back tomorrow evening and I _need_ to replace it until then, otherwise he won't talk to me for at least a decade."

" Oh my. Don't worry, I've got you. I have all of them here." She walked over to one of the tables and picked up _A Dance With Dragons_. "Do you need the same edition to cover your tracks or are you going to confess your crime?" she asked with a grin.

Alice laughed. "Confess, probably. Yes, that's the one he has. Thank god, you're a lifesaver. I looked on the internet but it wouldn't have arrived on time. Thankfully I found your address online."

"Oh, you didn't know about this place?" Claire asked innocently as she rang up the book.

Alice looked embarrassed. "No, sorry. We don't go to town that often and I haven't found the time yet since we moved here."

Claire wanted to kick herself at Alice's apologetic tone. Apparently it was her destiny to inadvertently insult every Cullen within five minutes of meeting them. "Oh no, that's not what I meant, sorry. It's just that your … Uh, I mean, Carlisle has been in a couple of times, so I thought he might have mentioned it."

"Oh, I see. No, I don't think he has, but then again I haven't seen him that much this week, and he's gone right now. But now that you've mentioned it, I _did_ notice him reading something yesterday. Well, something other than work stuff, anyhow." Alice took _A Dance With Dragons_ and hugged it to her chest, but showed no intention of leaving. She looked at Claire with her golden eyes. "So you know Carlisle?"

She cleared her throat and shrugged lightly. "We've talked a couple of times. He came in on Monday and asked about the name of the shop after he witnessed me diagnosing a customer. He asked for some book recommendations."

Alice tilted her head questioningly. "Diagnosing?"

"Well, that's just what I say. I sell books like medicine."

After some probing from Alice Claire launched into a brief explanation similar to the one she had given to Carlisle. Her mind was preoccupied with other things though. While she was talking she studied Alice as inconspicuously as she could.

Her resemblance to Carlisle was strong, although she looked nothing like him. The pale skin, the strange beauty, something about the way she held her body reminded Claire strongly of Carlisle, but that was where the familiarity stopped. Neither her dark her nor her facial features shared any similarity with Carlisle's; she had a small button nose, a pointed chin and big eyes, whereas Carlisle's face was all strong lines and sharp edges. Only the snowy skin and the slight purple shadows under their eyes were the same, and yet…

She answered another of Alice's questions regarding the Pharmacy as she suddenly realized what else seemed slightly off. They had been talking for several minutes, but Alice hadn't done so much as shift her weight once. Instead she stood rigid, frozen like a statue, the book still clutched to her chest. Even more so, now that Claire was paying attention to it, it seemed like she wasn't even _blinking_.

This realization left her so irritated that she let her sentence hang in the air. Alice seemed unperturbed by this.

"What did you tell him? Or are _you_ bound to secrecy too?" Alice asked with a grin.

Claire laughed. "No, although I try to respect my customers privacy. I don't think he'd mind though, it was pretty general. I mean, I don't really know anything about him so I can only guess, but it's pretty obvious that he needs a little more balance. His job is very demanding already, and I can't imagine that it's easy to be a single parent of four children- even if they're adults already," she amended with a smile to Alice. "To do both at the same time… must be hard. He doesn't seem unhappy though. He just needs a… a breath of fresh air."

Alice smiled broadly at her then. "I'm glad. He doesn't really have any friends beside his coworkers. There aren't a lot of opportunities to strike up a friendship, since he spends all his time divided between his work and us. But we're old enough now, and we're all in relationships. I think it'd be good for him to have somebody to talk to who doesn't want to talk about medicine or who is part of the family."

Claire suppressed a sigh of relief as the knot in her stomach relaxed. _So I was simply overreacting_. She took a deep breath and fought down the fluttering in her stomach. "That makes sense. Although we've only talked a couple of times, we're hardly friends."

Alice waved her hand at this, clearly seeing this as a triviality. "So what? You two are _friendly_ , that's a start. Friendships have started with less than that." She grinned, but then she sobered up. With a motion so quick Claire didn't even see it coming, Alice's hand shot out and gripped her arm with a surprising force. Alice's golden eyes bore into hers, her concern evident. "I'm sorry if I'm too forward, but you seem like a really nice person, and we're all a bit worried about him. If he has asked you for advice, maybe you can help him."

Although it was uncomfortable, Claire didn't flinch from Alice's grasp- or her stare. "I can try. But I'm no expert."

Alice shook her head decidedly. "I'm not asking you to be his therapist. Just… if you could be his friend, I think that would already help him a lot. He's always taking care of everyone else. But we all need someone to talk to. As you said, a breath of fresh air."

At the worried look on Alice's face, Claire instinctively put her hand over Alice's. Reason warned her not to, but Claire had always been deaf when it came to reason. With a worried smile, she nodded curtly. "I can be his friend, if that's what he wants."

Alice gave a tentative smile. "Really? Then I wouldn't have to worry about the future so much anymore."

Claire laughed and squeezed Alice's hand reassuringly. "Aren't you too young to worry about the future?"

" You can't be too young for that." With a laugh Alice stepped back. As she withdrew her arm from Claire's, she knocked a small figurine of a woman reading a book from the counter.

Claire's heart skipped a beat as she watched it sail through the air in a high arch, but before her brain could even process what was happening and compel her body to move, Alice had already crossed the distance and caught it effortlessly.

Claire blinked twice in an effort to understand what had happened, but Alice was already back in front of her, pressing the figurine into Claire's hand with a contrite look on her face. Claire waved her apologies away.

"Is it important to you?" Alice asked.

Claire brushed her thumb across the woman's face. It was one of the last ones Alfred had made.

"A good friend made it for me. I had been reading- Are you alright?"

In the middle of her explanation, Alice had suddenly frozen, eyes wide and unfocused. It lasted only a second, and Alice snapped out of it at her question, but Claire was sure that she heard a muttered _idiots!_. With a bright smile that showed perfect white teeth, Alice nodded.

"Yes! Yes. Sorry, I just remembered something- I'm afraid I have to go. Now. I'll see you- if I can't make it before, I'll definitely come in for your annual Halloween party. No, go and answer that. "She added with a nod towards the telephone that had started ringing during her words. Claire glanced over her shoulder to look at the number- if it was Alex it could, no, _would_ wait. She didn't recognize the number however, so she turned back to tell Alice goodbye.

Just as she turned, the doorbell rang. The door was slowly swinging shut, and the store was empty, just like the streets and the square outside. Alice Cullen was nowhere to be seen.

"What the hell?" Claire checked the streets thrice before she went to answer the phone. Absentmindedly she talked to the customer, her thoughts occupied with Alice.

After she finished her conversation, she wearily rubbed her face. Claire hated gossip, but even she couldn't deny that there was something strange about the Cullens. She mentally replayed the encounter. There was something that Alice had said that had seemed strange. _Well, stranger than she already is._

A wave of sympathy washed over Claire. If her siblings were anything like her, life in a small town like this must be hard for them, and their childhoods must've been as well. No wonder she seemed older than her nineteen years.

There was something… but no matter how hard she tried, Claire couldn't find it. Like a word just on the tip of her tongue, or a flitting movement seen out of the corner of an eye, she couldn't grasp it.

With mixed feelings she stared out of the window. A part of her was glad that Carlisle didn't care all that much for her. It would be nice to be his friend. Another part of her was even more curious about the Cullens now that she had met one more of them. Now she was sure that all the little odd things and moments she had noticed about Carlisle were not a figment of her overactive imagination. With a frustrated sigh she turned around. She had gotten some answers today, but in turn a ton of new questions had promptly replaced the old ones. And Claire intended to get answers.


	6. Cracks In The Paint

Thank so much for all the lovely reviews, they're so appreciated :) This ones slightly longer to make up for the irregular posting. Enjoy!

* * *

A frown creased Edwards face as his fingers flew across the keys of his piano. The low afternoon sun shone through the windows and bathed the wide room in soft light. In front of them, Bella and Emmett were seated on the floor, engrossed in a game of chess. Bella's back was turned to him; a rule Emmett had enforced at their first game so Edward couldn't help her win. He refrained from rolling his eyes at the thought. As if Bella would accept his help, stubborn and righteous as she was.

 _Hey, are you even listening?_ Alice asked in her thoughts. She was seated next to him and accompanied his song with her high-pitched soprano. It was something they often did- usually because it gave them a chance to have a private conversation. While they normally had to resort to unperceivable nods and slight gestures, Alice's singing and his own music covered his hushed answers, making them inaudible to anyone but her.

She had just returned from her visit to the woman- Claire, he corrected himself- and was telling him of the encounter. There wasn't exactly need for privacy- Alice had told them something was going to happen, and she wasn't trying as hard as usual to be subtle about their one-sided conversation, but they were used to this way of communicating.

He glanced at her and mumbled an apology. Alice rolled her eyes, then closed them. For a second, her mind went blank, then out of the fog an image appeared of a grinning Bella and a destroyed chessboard. _There, she'll win. Can we concentrate now?_

He flicked her ear casually, and Alice let it happen, a sure sign of how pleased she was. Nonetheless she stuck out her tongue and he couldn't suppress a grin. She certainly knew him well.

"Alright, I'm listening. So she started to ask questions?" he whispered as he let the melody rise, Alice's voice following along effortlessly. Her eyes flashed with satisfaction as she remembered for him.

 _Yes! Oh, you should've seen her, she was great! Innocent chitchat, no unusual questions, but she was digging. I_ told _you she was smart. I wish you'd been there to read her thoughts, I'd love to know how much she suspects…_

Then she gave him a rundown of their encounter. When she came to her little "accident" with the figurine, Edward had to suppress a snort.

"Very subtle, Alice."

 _I wasn't going for subtle_.

"Maybe next time, you could touch a cross and flinch away? Or try to visit a church with her and combust on the doorstep, if your little accidents don't manage to do the job," he suggested drily. Alice arched a fine eyebrow.

 _Or maybe I could lift a van in a crowded parking lot?_

Now he couldn't refrain from snorting. He ignored Bella's and Emmett's questioning looks and waited for them to resume their game until he whispered: "Point taken. Still; you're incorrigible."

 _Don't forget to mention successful,_ Alice thought with a grin _. She's going to figure it out anyways, that much is certain. I'm only helping her along. You saw what I saw._

"The only thing solid was that she'll find out, and that's because no one but us two really knows enough to try and stop it. You can't see the whole picture. I know," he answered her thought," you rarely do. But … I don't know. I'm still not sold on this, Alice. Even if your scent is diluted enough so he doesn't notice you've talked to her, what if she tells him? He'll figure out something's going on. And what if she finds out and can't handle it? We can't leave witnesses. "

 _He won't smell it, he won't get in until Wednesday, that's why I kept him out of town until tomorrow evening. And she won't tell him, she's already decided that. As for the handling it-Claire's tough, she'll be fine. Trust me._

There it was again, Edward thought. She'd spoken the same way of Bella, back then, as if they already were friends, no matter how unclear how visions were. Alice's trust in the future was unshakeable. Edward was less optimistic. "You're not even sure yourself."

 _I'm eighty percent sure. It all depends on their decisions. I'm just trying to give them their best chance. Same as with you and Bella back then. And look where it got you._ She quickly touched the wedding ring on his finger and grinned. _I take credit for that._

He scoffed, but then admitted: "Rightly so. But you're saying yourself that your visions aren't infallible. Sometimes you're wrong, Alice."

"Checkmate!" Bella's voice called out behind him, followed by a very brief silence and then a crash and muttered curses. Emmett was standing in front of the crushed board, pointing a finger at her with narrowed eyes. "Rematch tomorrow. Ten boards this time. 20 seconds per move." Then he stalked off and flung himself on the couch.

 _Sometimes_ , Alice admitted, sounding smug. _Usually not, though_.

Edward suppressed a sigh. "Fine. So what do we do now?"

Alice pulled her cellphone from her pocket.

"Now I call Rose."

Carlisle leaped onto a rock ledge that protruded over the forest. Below he could hear the activity tentatively picking up again in his wake.

" _Alone far in the wilds and mountains I hunt, wandering, amazed at my own lightness and glee_ ," he softly murmured to himself with a smile. Claire was right- apparently Whitman always had a fitting quote, no matter what situation one found oneself in.

Above him the sun stood high in the sky, and he made sure to stay in the shadows. They had checked that nobody was around, but in his elevated position his glittering skin would be seen wide and far. Beneath his skin he could still feel the lingering warmth of the deer's blood, and the raw burning in his throat had subsided to a faint itch.

He scanned the woods, but could find no trace of Rosalie or Jasper yet. They had found the trail of a pack of wolves and took off after them. Carlisle had decided to stay behind, content with the plenty of deer that roamed the forest, glad to have some room to breathe.

It was almost noon, and they would need to head back soon. Since Rose and Jasper were nowhere to be seen, Carlisle decided that now was as good a time as any to get his reading done. He had heeded Claire's prescription and refrained from reading more than six pages, marking sentences that struck him or making notes on the margins.

Just as he wanted to pull _Leaves of Grass_ from his pocket, Carlisle heard someone running through the forest. A single pair of light steps, coming from the southeast, the same way he had come. As he turned, Rosalie shot out between the trees and landed next to him.

"There you are. Where is Jasper?"

Rose scrunched up her nose as she pulled a twig from her hair. "Talking to Alice. He sent me to come and get you. We're supposed to meet him at the car. Are you finished?"

Carlisle nodded, and they both jumped from the ledge into the green fray below. It didn't take them long to reach the remote parking lot were they've left the car.  
A few hundred yards from the lot, Rose slowed down to an easy jog. She was fumbling with her hair again, and Carlisle had to suppress a smile.

Just before they reached the edge of the woods, Rosalie slowly stopped and turned to him.

"Can I talk to you for a minute?"

"Of course. What is the matter?"

Rose smiled wryly as she plucked a leaf from her braid. "That's actually what I'd like to ask _you_."  
At his surprised look, Rosalie hunched her shoulders defensively. "Look, if you do not want to talk about it, that's fine, and I'm not going to make a fuss about it. I'm not Edward. But even those of us who _don't_ have a talent for invading privacy" – a small smile crossed her face-"have noticed that something is bothering you. Even Emmett", she added with a laugh. Her arms crossed in front of herself. "I mean… I could understand it if you don't want to talk with anyone, because let's be honest, I love Emmett, but he's awful when it comes to advice, and Alice, Jazz and Edward can be really annoying when it comes to personal matters. And… well, I suppose I'm not exactly a great confidante either." Another wry laugh, then a small, almost shy smile crossed her face. "But I can try."

For a moment, Carlisle was at a loss for words. Hesitantly he reached out and pulled another small twig from her braid, before he clasped her shoulder with a light squeeze. "It's very kind of you to offer, Rose." With a sigh he let go of her shoulder and ran his hand through his hair. "I'm very sorry if I made any of you worried or uncomfortable. I haven't said anything because there really isn't anything to say. Nothing's wrong. I just have a lot on my mind at the moment."

She didn't look convinced, but slowly started walking with him nonetheless. "Well, if that's all that it is…"

He tried a reassuring smile. "I'll be fine. I'm sorry if I seem distracted. I just… haven't settled in at work properly yet. I guess we all miss Forks a little." He added, smiling thoughtfully.

Rosalie was silent for a moment, before she said in a low voice: "Do you want to move somewhere else?"

That stopped him. "No, not at all. I like it here, and I know how hard it is for you to move somewhere else. We just arrived, it just takes a little time to get settled in." He raised an eyebrow, a small smile playing on his lips. "Am I that bad, then? If it makes _you_ consider moving?"

Rose shrugged nonchalantly, but he could see that she was fighting a smile. "I'm just being pragmatic- better we move now rather than in a year or two. It's bad enough we had to keep our old identities in case Charlie decides to check up on us, that means two or three years less this time around." She looked ahead then, avoiding his eyes. "And if you're unhappy, it's not worth sticking around. God knows you've moved because of us enough times already. And if worst comes to worst you're going to be as brooding as Edward was five years ago, and I can't let that happen. I was so glad we finally had those days behind us." She rolled her eyes, but Carlisle could see that she was trying not to smile.

Before he could think of an answer, the sound of rapid footsteps announced Jaspers arrival. Seconds later he appeared between the trees and stopped next to Carlisle.

"Alice says hello, and to hurry a little, otherwise the interstate is going to be clogged."

All three of them started to walk again, this time at a human pace, since the parking lot was almost in view now.

"Any other news?"

"Not much. Emmett got competitive and tried to get a rise out of Bella, but that's no news." Jasper said with a chuckle. "Apparently Tanya is considering to invite us up for the holidays, but there are not concrete plans yet. Oh, and Garrett decided to come for a visit too, but he still thinks we're in Forks. Alice will put up an ad in several newspapers along his way to tell him were we are, he knows to look for those. But he hasn't decided when he's going to come yet."

"God, when was the last time we saw him? 1972?" Rosalie asked as they all pulled their shoes from their feet and put them in the trunk of Rosalie's BMW- dirty shoes were something she didn't tolerate in her cars.

"Something like that I think. You know how he is." Jasper said as he slid into the car.

Rosalie and Carlisle walked to the driver's side, but before she could reach for the door, Carlisle grasped her elbow softly. "About earlier… I'll be fine, I promise. But thank you for asking. I know it's hard for you, so offering to move was very kind. But I'd never put you- any of you- through that if I could help it."

Rose waved a hand in dismissal. "We all know that. That's why we wouldn't mind. Of course we'd go for you. You're the best of us, Carlisle, we all know that."

Her words left a knot in his stomach, and he shifted uncomfortably. "Hardly", was all he could mutter, and to hide his discomfort he bent forward and opened the door for Rose, who slid behind the steering wheel. Carlisle slipped onto the backseat and leaned back. Rosalie and Jasper chatted amiably like they had done on the way there, but Carlisle was lost in thought.

If Rose out of all people felt that it was necessary to talk to him, and even to suggest that they should move, he must be in worse shape than he had estimated. Moving was the absolute last resort for Rosalie, yet for him she had immediately considered it.

He hadn't talked to anyone because he didn't want to impose on his family, but maybe his silence had only worried them more than necessary. Still, he didn't feel like he was behaving so strangely. He felt out of sorts, yes. A little as if his skin had grown simultaneously too big and too tight for him, as if it didn't fit properly anymore. He felt slightly restless, somehow adrift, and yet as if he hadn't moved in years.

The longer he chased questions in his mind, the more restless he got. Finally, when he felt Jasper shoot a glance his way, he pulled _Leaves of Grass_ out of his pocket and began reading, hoping that the lilting rhythm would ease his mind a little. A part of him wanted to read the rest of the pages so he could give it to Claire tomorrow, in the hope that she could tell him what he was missing, but somehow he knew that it was important that he did this the right way.

 _In all people I see myself , and I know I am solid and sound_

I exist as I am, that is enough

And if no other in the world is aware I sit content…

A pale hand pushed a book into her field of view.

"So... Whitman, huh?"

She looked up at Carlisle, not able to help the broad grin that stretched over her face. A strange relief poured over her at his clumsy statement. It seemed uncharacteristic for him, he who was usually so eloquent, so soft spoken. And then she realized that was exactly what it was- there was no effort at all to impress her, just the truth. No elaborate explanations or musings, no foreign words or any effort to show his intelligence. She knew that he was intelligent, she knew he had a way with words- and he didn't think it necessary emphasize it in order to appear impressive, like so many people did. All that mattered was the truth. And to her, that was strangely beautiful.

Her grin broadened, impossibly. "I know, right?!"

That was when she properly looked him in the eyes. He was replying something, eyes alight with mirth, but Claire didn't hear what he was saying, because his eyes were _golden_. Not the warm, dark brown they used to be, but a molten, light _gold_. Exactly like liquid honey. _Exactly_ like Alice's eyes.

Her expression must've derailed quite badly, because Carlisle stopped laughing and asked her if she was alright. Claire quickly reigned her face in and pretended to have forgotten something in the back. She slid past the curtain, her mind racing. For a moment, she wondered if she was imagining it, but no, she knew what she had seen. She could still see his dark eyes in her mind. If his eyes had been like this before, she certainly _would_ have noticed. No, she wasn't imagining it. Which meant that she likely wasn't imagining the rest either.

After Alice's visit she had been preoccupied with the all the little odd things she had seen about the Cullens. But the more she thought about it, the less sure she'd been what exactly she had seen. Or thought to have seen. She'd considered talking to someone, but quickly realized how crazy her observations would sound. There were reasonable explanations for most of them. So she had resolved to dismiss the Cullen Mystery, which was likely a product of her overflowing imagination anyways.

And now Carlisle Cullen was standing in her shop, with a different eye color than before. The exact same color of his adopted daughter.

She took a deep breath and told herself to be reasonable. There had to be a logical explanation. Contact lenses. People wore colored lenses, right? Except that Carlisle Cullen wasn't _people_ , and while she could easily imagine him wearing an ugly Christmas sweater, Claire was sure he was not the type of person to wear colored lenses.

Claire stared ahead as she tried to sort her thoughts. Her eyes caught on the wall ahead of her.  
Just above the old couch where Alfred had always taken a nap during his break and were she used to sit now during hers, the paint on the wall was chipped away. Several inches wide now, where it had originally just been a small crack in the paint, until she had started to sit on the couch regularly.

It had happened absentmindedly, while she was reading, but soon she was peeling away the paint whenever she sat there. She'd always had a habit of fumbling around when she was distracted; twirling her hair or peeling labels of bottles, and the wall was another of her victims. Only when she had found old wallpaper beneath, and beneath that a name, she'd begun to strip the wall in earnest.

In the end it had only been the names of the pair who'd owned the building before Alfred, who had written down their names there before they'd put up the wallpaper. Alfred had laughed about her for a month, but at the same time he'd framed her work of destruction, with the explanation that it was the perfect summary for her. _Can't keep from peeling back the layers, to see behind the cracks. That's what you do. That's who you are._

Claire straightened up. Alfred was right. She ran a hand through her hair and went back outside.

Carlisle was facing slightly away from her, his attention on Emily, who was sitting in her usual spot. As Claire came to the counter, he glanced at her. There was a little awkwardness between them after her hasty exit, and both seemed at a loss for what to say. She cleared her throat and put on a grin.  
"So, where's my cupcake?"

Carlisle laughed and put the paper bag he had been carrying on the counter. Eagerly she picked it up, and briefly wondered that it seemed very light. She peeked inside and had to bite back her laughter.

"Are you serious? Okay, this is just cruel." She complained as she gingerly plucked a carrot from the bag.

" _You_ said I ought to give people carrots." Carlisle replied with a grin.

"Yes, but I was thinking along the line of carrot _cakes_."

"Next time," he said, and against her will, her stomach fluttered a little. Before she could think anything of it, the phone began ringing.

Carlisle watched Claire as she answered the phone call, mentally scolding himself all the while. Clearly she had noticed his eye color earlier, and he should've been more careful. Usually he was, but his excitement had gotten the better of him and he had looked directly at her. Of course it happened from time to time that people noticed. _Oh, it must be the light,_ or a _Are_ your _eyes always exactly the same color?_ usually sufficed, but she had disappeared so quickly he hadn't even been able to explain it away somehow.

Still, her reaction had been unusually strong, Carlisle thought. Normally people simply asked whether he had gotten contacts or something along these lines, but Claire had wheeled around and left the room without a single word or question, which was untypical for her in itself. Worse, she had stood still for several minutes behind the curtain, breath and pulse slightly elevated. She hadn't just been surprised, she'd been shocked when she'd seen his eyes, and that was not a good sign.

She finished her conversation and turned back to him, searching his eyes with hers. He avoided her gaze by ´nodding towards the girl, who was half hidden behind her book.

"What is her story?"

"Emily?" She looked over to the girl and sighed. "She lost her mother, almost two years ago. She was only nine then. Her father's working a lot, so she and her sister are alone a lot of the time. They came in for the first time shortly after… well, Emily wasn't speaking, and Kat was just so _angry_ at the world, and Alex, their father, was utterly, utterly lost. He was looking for books about death, to help him and the girls deal with the loss."

"What books did you give him?"

" Books about life." She smiled. "Em and Kat started to come in more often, and I offered to keep an eye on them after school, in the shop, when their father was at work. That's when I had the idea to make the deal with Dora." She nodded in the direction of the café across the street.

He looked at Emily, huddled behind her book in the corner. Carlisle had seen many children like her throughout the years. "Poor girl. Children should not grow up without their mother."

Claire's bright eyes studied him for a second, her head tilted slightly. "How old were you?" Her voice was soft and calm. He sighed. _Entirely too perceptive_.

"Not even an hour."

Claire looked up at him, sadness and sympathy in her eyes. "I'm sorry."

Carlisle shook his head slightly and gave her a small smile. "Don't be. It was a long time ago. "

"Still." Her lips pressed together and scrunched up at the left corner, a contrite almost-smile. Then she brushed a strand of hair behind her ear, still a little awkward. "So, did you finish then?"

"No, I followed your instructions. I'll be done on Friday. I just thought you'd like to hear that you were right about him." Carlisle explained with a smile that Claire returned, hers a bit lopsided.

"Ah, you know me so well. But did you need to read almost all of it to figure that out?"

"No, I figured that out about three lines in- not that I had any doubt about it in the first place." He grinned." No, I was out of town and then work kept me occupied."

" A lot to do?" She asked and went over to one of the small tables and sat down. Carlisle followed suit and took the seat across from her. The shop was empty except for them and Emily, who was paying them no mind as usual.

"Not overly, but it certainly never gets boring. There's rarely time to sit idle."

"I can imagine that. Must be quite stressful." She mused, head tilted to the side. Carlisle shook his head.

"I don't mind. I love my work. It brings me happiness. And peace."

"Peace from what?"

"The past. Myself." He replied, surprised by his own answer. He hadn't really thought about it, the words had just left his mouth and hung in the air between them. In itself they revealed nothing, and simultaneously too much; someone as perceptive as Claire could easily start to ask the right questions if she followed their direction. And somehow he knew he would answer.

But again, she surprised him. She held his gaze, thinking about his answer, recognizing his own surprise at his answer. Then, instead of asking more questions, she smiled slightly and leaned back.

"Then you're lucky that you've found purpose."

"I know." Carlisle replied, a fraction too fast. They both sat there, looking at each other, gauging reactions. He tilted his head slightly, and she laughed at his confused look.

"What?"

"I'm surprised you're not asking _why_ I need to find peace."

"You don't look like you're sure yourself. And if you want to talk about it, I guess you will." Claire shrugged. "Plus, I'm trying really hard not to be nosy, so stop tempting me. I'm trying to better myself here, okay?"

Carlisle chuckled. "How's that working out for you?"

"Poorly." She leaned across the table, eyes narrowed. "Spill the beans, mister."

He laughed, but hesitated. "I…"

"You can't talk about it." A statement, not a question. "Because you're ashamed?"

"Not exactly. I mean, yes too. I just can't tell… the specifics."

She studied him and leaned back, and after a second she nodded to herself. "Okay. I see. Well, I can do something about the first part."

"How?"

"Tell you my shame." She heaved a deep breath, and he wanted to protest that it wasn't necessary, but his curiosity got the better of him. Claire stretched her legs out and studied her shoes for a moment. Then she looked at him out of the corner of her eyes. "Well, as you might have noticed, my tongue tends to be faster than my brain sometimes."

Carlisle smiled slightly, and shook his head. "I don't think your brain has any problems keeping up. Certainly not with your tongue, and I doubt with anything else, either."

The left corner of her mouth curled up, but she shook her head. "That's kind of you to say, but I know my flaws. I guess I've always been a smartass, which is probably good, because I felt like I knew better than my parents, and that kept me from repeating their mistakes. Or maybe it was the other way around- I became this way because they weren't. So I have always been … precocious, for whichever reason. And then I went to live with Uncle Q, who always treated me more like an adult, like a roommate, than a child. He was bad with children, so instead of taking me to the movies, we discussed _Anna Karenina_. He… taught me how to use my brain, and the discussions with him, well, they were good training.  
Until I came to London I had moved a lot, so I didn't have many friends- that changed when I started school in London. I wasn't extremely popular or anything, but I found a few good friends and a lot of acquaintances, although most were interested in stories about Q, who is a bit of a local legend."

She leaned back and brushed a hand through her hair with an ironic smile on her lips.

"Well, I wasn't exactly timid back then either, and it didn't take long until I found out that I could make people laugh with my remarks. I was perceptive and had a quick mind, so I let my tongue run free, because it made people praise how funny I was. I loved the attention, I'm not going to lie. Soon all I thought about was making as many funny remarks as I could, not caring all that much what I said, or to whom. I was pretty cruel sometimes, not because I wanted to, but simply because I couldn't resist saying something clever to say." With a weary sigh she rubbed her neck, something she always seemed to do when she was uncomfortable.

"Well, the worse my comments got, the worse I felt. I knew that I as behaving awfully, but at the same time, I didn't understand it. Does that make sense?" She asked with a weak laugh, and Carlisle nodded. "It wasn't until the incident with Tilly Millner that I learned my lesson. We were sixteen, and she was a bit on the bigger side. It wasn't my intention to hurt her feelings or insult her, all my mind saw was a clever wordplay when her ball rolled down a hill in P.E. Only that for Tilly, it wasn't just a clever play on words, not a witty joke, because obviously it _wasn't_. She didn't come to school the next day, and not the next either. News travelled that she had left school after P.E class, and was apparently refusing to eat. I put two and two together and felt so utterly ashamed and shocked that I couldn't eat for two days either. I wrestled with myself for a day, but then the shame won out and I went to Tilly's house to apologize."

Carlisle watched her, remorse still etched plainly on her face. "Did you two become friends?"

Claire laughed drily once and looked at him, eyes hard and blazing. "No. She threw my apology back at my face, closely followed by the door. And I'm still glad she did."

"Why?"

"Because I deserved it. And because it meant she had a backbone, more than I did. She came back to school the next day." She looked up at him, a wry smile on her face. "And it made sure I learned the lesson. I'd like to think by now I've learned to be funny, and not to be an ass. Which doesn't mean that I don't mess up sometimes. I still have a quick tongue, but I try to make my teasing plain enough to be recognized as such."

Carlisle understood what she was telling him, and quickly reassured her. "I'd think it'd be hard to misread your teasing as anything but good natured humor."

Her answering smile was relieved. Then she nodded. "Okay. Now you. Whatever you can, no specifics."

Carlisle tensed a bit, he had almost forgotten that her story had been a payment for his own. At his hesitation, Claire frowned slightly.

"What, are we friends now or not? I told you intimate details about my life, now is your turn. This trust thing has to go both ways if a friendship wants to last a lifetime" she scolded, but her voice had the same tone she used when she was admonishing Emily, and he had to smile.

Carlisle tried to decide what to tell her, and she misread his hesitation.

"Hey, no need to worry. Do you think I'm a bad person now that I've told you this story?"

"No, of course not."

"See, and I won't judge either. It's a free secret."

"Free secret?"

Claire nodded. "It's something I always did with Kat, and still do with Emily. " She turned to the girl. "Hey Em, can you tell Doctor Cullen here what a free secret is?"

Narnia flopped down on her lap and Emily turned her attention to him. "It's when you tell someone a secret, and they're not allowed to get mad at you. And they can't tell anyone else, ever. Free secrets are always safe."

"That sounds like a really nice idea." Carlisle said to Emily, and he could see Claire smile. _A free secret_. Obviously he couldn't make use of it for his actual problems. But maybe he'd found a place for the smaller ones. He returned his attention to Claire and nodded.

"Very well. A free secret then. Well, you might have heard that I've… adopted my niece and nephew. It was a difficult time back then, there was need to act fast… and I had to make a decision. Only that my decision affected several lives and it appears that I might've acted too fast. Rosalie in particular was very attached to the life she had led before, and it was very hard for her when she was removed from it because of my decision. She lost a lot of things she can never get back, because of me. She resented me for it for a long time. I only did what I thought was best, but… I'm still asking myself what right I had to decide in her place. In any of their places."

His confession seemed pretty light compared to hers, but Carlisle felt like a weight had been lifted from his chest by speaking the words out loud. Claire watched him thoughtfully.

"That must be hard for both of you. I'm sure she knows that you only did what you thought was best. Even if she can't always _understand_ it. You tried to do the right thing, and it didn't work out like you wanted. There's no shame in that."

A tiny knot in his stomach loosened a little at her words. Of course he knew this. But, as Claire had said, that didn't mean he always understood it, too. And her words were like a little absolution to him.

They both flinched lightly as his beeper went off in his pocket. After a quick check, he stood up and excused himself. Then he chuckled lightly to dissolve the heavy mood that had settled over them and said: "So, does that mean we are friends now?"  
Claire crossed her arms. "That depends."

"On what?"

"On what's in the next bag. I'm not friends with people that view carrots as gifts."

Carlisle chuckled. "I was only looking out for you- is that not what friends do?"

"Only if the other friend is a snowman or has floppy ears," she retorted, eyebrows raised. Carlisle had never been someone who liked to fight, but he was rapidly discovering that crossing blades could be fun, too. He studied her ears briefly.

"Your ears are a little floppy, to be fair."

Claire's mouth opened outraged, but her eyes were sparkling with amusement. With a dramatic flourish she pointed to the door, just as his beeper rang again.

"Outrageous! Out with you! And I won't let you back in unless you've got a cupcake with you!"

Carlisle went to the door, but before he stepped out of the store, he turned around again. "Of course you will," he said nonchalantly. "I'm friends with the owner."

Before she could answer, he slipped out the door, grinning smugly. It was about time he got the last word in. Satisfied and grinning, Carlisle walked back to the hospital.


	7. Secrets, Sunshine, Separations

Hey lovelies. First off, I'm so sorry this took so long! This fic is still going, but unfortunately, real life has this annoying quirk of getting in the way. In the meantime I have secured a new job- you want to guess where? Yes, obviously. I'll be a bookseller. What a joke! Anyways, here's a really long chapter to make up for my absence, not beta'd yet since I'm leaving for vacation tomorrow and I wanted this out and posted before. Things are starting to get serious! I hope you enjoy it, and as always, I'm super happy about all likes, comments, and whatnot :) Also, Happy Birthday to the orinigal Haley 3 xx Dionne

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The next day Carlisle found himself hurrying down the corridor past several nurses who tried to engage him in conversation. He cast a glance at his watch. _11:42_. He needed to hurry. Hastily he closed the door of his office behind himself and opened up his browser. Within a few seconds, he found the number he was looking for and dialed. After a moment, a familiar voice answered.

"Hello, this is _The Literary Pharmacy_. You are talking to Claire- how can I help you?"

"Hello Claire, this is Carlisle."

For a second she didn't respond, and he wondered what she was thinking. When she responded her voice sounded equally amused and surprised. "I assume you're calling to apologize for your rude behavior yesterday afternoon?"

He smiled and leaned against his desk. "I do not have the slightest inkling of what you might be talking about."  
Claire snorted. "Still rude, I see. What else do you want then?" she asked, cutting to the chase faster than usual, her tone curious.

"I just remembered that I wanted to order a book basket, but I forgot about it earlier." He had been standing at the end of a patients bed, updating the data on their medical chart when he noticed the date and let out a mild curse under his breath. Originally he had planned not to come in until he had finished reading _Leaves of Grass_ \- he didn't want to crowd her with excessive visits- but then, after he had left the _Pharmacy_ yesterday, he had realized that Claire would be perfect in helping him around Bella's _No-Gifts-_ Policy.

After Emmett, Alice, Jasper and Rose had given her a slightly enhanced replica of her old Chevy for her first birthday as a vampire, Bella had allotted the rule that she wouldn't take any gifts that cost more than fifty dollars and needed any form of power to work. Her adamant refusal of gifts made him smile; his newest daughter had changed with immortality, like all of them had, but neither the prospect of an endless parade of birthdays nor a fairly decent amount of money had changed her aversion to presents. They had slowly relented and given up, and while Edward still tried his best by buying her books or jewelry, none of them had exactly been successful in finding a perfect gift for her.  
Now however, Carlisle had realized, he was friends with a talented bookseller that specialized in finding just the right book. Maybe with Claire he stood a chance of finally finding the right fit.

Unfortunately this revelation had eluded him until tuesday evening, so he had come in yesterday- only to promptly forget about his plans, because Claire had managed to distract him with her quick wit and stories.

"You see," he continued, "it is my daughter-in-law's birthday tomorrow, and she is a little peculiar when it comes to gifts." He briefly explained the situation, and went on to describe Bella's tastes in books. "So, would it be possible to get a book-basket with maybe three or four books until tomorrow? I know it is a little short- notice, and I understand if it won't work."

"That won't be a problem, I can have it ready in an hour. So, she likes Jane Austen and _Wuthering Heights_ , you say?" Claire asked, her tone somewhat strange.

"Yes, is that a problem?"

"No, of course not. I just wouldn't have pegged Alice as the _Wuthering Heights_ type, that's all."

"Alice?" he asked, confused for a second, before he realized his mistake.

Claire sounded equally uncertain. "Yes? I assumed you meant her with daughter-in-law? Or did you mean Rosalie? I mean, technically neither of them are, but… "She let the sentence hang in the air, apparently unsure of what to say.

"Uh, yes, I meant Alice. Of course she's not technically my daughter-in-law, but sometimes… sometimes I call her that. It's an inside-joke, of sorts." He grimaced at his awkward attempt of salvaging the situation. _What was happening to him?_ Didn't he used to be good at keeping up the charade? It had always been him that had reinforced the necessity of their cover stories, and suddenly he was the one who kept messing up.

The awkwardness between them was palpable over the line, but before one of them could make up their mind of what to say, the shops' doorbell could be heard. Claire cursed slightly, much to Carlisle's surprise, and muttered: "Oh, sorry, could you hold on a sec?"

"Of course," he replied, and then cloth rustled and all sounds became muffled as Claire supposedly pressed the phone against her shoulder. Although everything was muted, Carlisle could still hear the male voice that greeted Claire enthusiastically.

"Hey Alex," Claire answered, and although he couldn't hear her clearly, Carlisle thought that she sounded somewhat tentative. "What are you doing here? Aren't Emily and Kat home by now?"

"My mother came down to help me out a little for a couple of days."

"Oh, that's lovely. Tell her I said hi." Claire said warmly, but her voice still sounded slightly off to Carlisle's ears.

The man- _Alex_ , he corrected himself- hesitated, before he slowly said: "Why don't you tell her hi yourself? Come over later and say hi to her and the girls. And then maybe I could take you out to dinner afterwards?" There was a small, awkward silence as Claire didn't answer. He could feel her agitation over the line, and suddenly he felt uncomfortable too. He stood up straight from where he had leaned against his desk and started pacing. When Claire didn't seem to reply, Alex added: " You know, as a thank-you sort of thing? I never really got around to thank you for what you did for the girls… and for me", he added, the last bit loaded with implications. Carlisle didn't understand why, but it annoyed him immensely- couldn't he tell that Claire was uncomfortable?

"I….Uh, thank you Alex. But I can't," Claire replied, and then added hastily: "And you don't need to thank me anyways, I was only glad I could help."

There was a brief silence as neither of them said anything. Then Alex said: "Listen, I didn't just want to take you to dinner to say thank you. There was something I wanted to tell you."

Claire's only reply was a breathless "Oh?" that made Carlisle wish he could see her face.

"Please, come to dinner with me?"

Claire seemed to think it over, and Carlisle stopped pacing. Then she let out a small sigh.  
"I'm sorry Alex. I can't."

"Why not, Claire?" he demanded. The way he said her name implied an intimacy that took Carlisle unawares. His tone clearly stated that he knew her reason was personal, rather than a simple obligations that could not be postponed. It suggested he'd said her name this way many times before, and it made Carlisle wonder how close they were. But if they were, couldn't he tell that he was clearly making her uncomfortable? Carlisle could hear the rustling of her clothes, as she shifted, apparently uneasy. He couldn't see her face, but he could easily imagine it: Her brow furrowed, her shoulders slightly hunched, one hand clutching the phone, the other with her thumb hooked into the back pocket of her jeans.

"I just can't," she replied quietly, and in his mind he could see her drawn in her lower lip.

Yet maybe he was simply imagining things, because the man kept pestering her anyways. "That's not a reason."

 _She had given her answer_. _Why can't he let it go?_ He felt an irritated knot in his stomach. Carlisle disliked people who gave such little disregard to other people's feelings, especially when they were as good and kind as Claire. She deserved better. _Someone who respects her decisions._  
Apparently Claire thought so too.

"Actually, it is, Alex. I can't. I'm flattered, and I thank you for asking me, but I can't." Alex started to protest, but Claire interrupted him. The line rustled once again, and suddenly her voice was clear again. "I'm sorry, Alex," she sounded sincere, but firm. "And now, if you'll excuse me? I have a customer waiting on the line that I need to attend to. Give my love to the girls and your mom, will you?"

Alex mumbled a defeated reply, and Carlisle heard the bell, followed by a weary sigh of Claire. He couldn't help but admire the way she had handled herself- she'd been kind, but hadn't budged to accommodate him. Carlisle had had his fair share of dealings with impolite people, but even he had found something about the man immensely irritating.

"Hey. Sorry about the interruption..." Claire said and shook him from his musings. Tension he hadn't been aware of dissipated from his shoulders.

"That's alright", he replied and tried to put his smile into his tone in order to make her feel more comfortable. " You were talking about options?" he prompted when she didn't go on.

"Oh, right. Yes." There was a short, awkward silence, then Claire took a deep breath and clapped her hands together. A short ruffling disrupted the connection, and then Claire's voice was a tiny bit louder. In his mind he saw her, phone pinned between cheek and shoulder, as she rolled up her sleeves and went to a bookshelf. She named some titles for him and gave some short recommendations.

"Oh, and there's always _Far From The Madding Crowd_ , which is getting popular right now, as well as _Death Comes To Pemberly_ , which is set about a decade after _Pride and Prejudice_. I can also recommend _Longbourn_ by Jo Baker, it's _Pride and Prejudice_ retold by the servants of Longbourn, where the heroine lives. Apart from that, _A Sicilian Romance_ is really great, it's from Ann Radcliffe, an author some of Jane Austen's heroine's read in her books. It's a little gothic… well, you know: Lovers are separated! Secrets are revealed! Houses are haunted… _or are they?_ " She laughed, and he chuckled as he imagined her theatrical expressions.

"That all sounds perfect- I'm afraid I'm of no big help though, so I'll leave it to you if you don't mind."

Claire agreed, and they quickly went over the details. They agreed that he'd pick it up in the afternoon.

"Alright. See you later, Doc", Claire quipped and ended the call. Carlisle hang up and looked out of his window, a slight unease still lingering in his stomach. He hoped the man would take the hint and stop pestering her.

He left his office and went back to work, but for the whole afternoon his thoughts went back to the conversation he'd overheard. Now, in hindsight, he realized that he had intruded her privacy and that he shouldn't have listened in, but then he hadn't even thought about it. He had heard her unease and had felt strangely protective, and he had been curious as well, if he was honest with himself.

Yet something kept nagging at him, and he couldn't pinpoint what exactly it was.

Claire ended the phone call and sagged against her desk as she put the phone down. Wearily, she ran a hand over her face and shot a cautious look towards the door- if Alex decided to return, she'd simply pretend her phone call wasn't over yet.

In her mind she could already hear Lou complaining, but except for a very thin layer of guilt, she could find no regret in herself for turning Alex down. Lou would argue that the lurch in her stomach when he'd asked her could've signaled something good, but Claire trusted her intuition, and she had been dreading this for several weeks now.

It wasn't like she hadn't _thought_ about it. He was nice enough, and smart, a good father, he liked books reasonably enough. Good looking, too- not in the inhumanly stupid way Carlisle was of course, she thought wryly, but normal. _A solid man_.

 _And somewhat dull_ , if she was honest. She felt bad for it, but she wanted more than just _enough._ Lou and Haley- hell, even Alfred- blamed her books for it, and Claire was inclined to agree with them. Obviously her expectations were unrealistic, but what was she supposed to do? _I can hardly force myself to feel something I don't._

And to her, Alex had always been just Alex. She didn't think about him when he wasn't there, she never wondered whether or not he might like a book- of course, she had her recommendations for him, since that was her job- but she never wanted to divulge her favourites, to try and push her luck and broaden his horizons a little, just to see if she could.

Yet she couldn't help but feel slightly guilty. She was worried that she might've led him on, with the way she had cared for the girls, but then again he knew perfectly well that Claire had always cared for others. He had helped her take care of the Fosters, he knew she read to Mrs. Mulligan, knew of Alfred. But maybe he had disregarded this evidence, and thought it had been different for them. Maybe he had just wished it to be true because it would make everything so much easier for the girls.  
In a way Claire hoped that this was all it was- a lonely father, wanting a mother for his daughters. That would mean his feelings weren't too involved, that he'd get over her rejection easily, and also that he was resourceful and hopeful enough to create a new life for his family. He'd just have to accept that she wasn't going to be the woman he could start this new life with.

A new customer shook her from her thoughts, and she set to work. After she'd convinced the woman to trade the dietary guide she had sought to buy could be perfectly substituted with a travel journal of a french chef who traveled the world by herself, Claire sent her on her way over to Donna's. Then she grabbed the stack of books she had collected while she'd talked to Carlisle.

While she grabbed what she needed and set to prepare the book basket, her thoughts returned to Carlisle and Alice. The more she kept thinking about it, the more she felt like he'd been lying to her.  
She was certain that the basket was not for Alice, but who else could he have meant? Again, she couldn't make sense of any of it, and everytime she resolved to stop mulling over all the little mysteries that seemed to resolve around Carlisle, another one seemed to pop up that rekindled her curiosity.

She wondered why he'd felt the need to lie to her- it didn't seem like it was in his nature to lie easily, especially not about something so trivial. While she arranged the last bits and bobs in the basket, she resolved herself to some light investigation once Carlisle would come over to pick up the basket.

The clock on the wall struck four o'clock exactly as Carlisle pointed randomly at one of the at least two dozen variants of cupcakes that were displayed before him.

"If I might make a suggestion? Claire loves the caramel peanut ones best."

Carlisle shot the woman a curious look over the counter. She chuckled and nodded towards the door, her bright red, permed curls bouncing with the motion.

"My eyes _are_ still working. I haven't seen you around here before- believe me, I would have noticed," she took him in pointedly, and a dozen laugh lines crinkled around her eyes which held a mischievous glint that reminded him of Claire. "And every time you buy something, you head over there, and every time you leave without it." Carlisle opened his mouth, but the woman shook her head vigorously. "Oh, no need to explain. It's none of my business anyhow, even if I can't help being a bit nosy now and then," she said and winked. "I wouldn't even have said anything, but I could hardly let you bring a mocha chocolate chip over there, or Claire would've stoned both of us."

Carlisle chuckled. "Well, then I thank you for interfering. Do you have any other suggestions?"

The woman smiled kindly. "Claire's afternoon pick-me-up, coming right up." He watched her as she grabbed a cupcake, a banana and prepared a coffee. There was the same air of kindness about her that radiated from Claire. It didn't surprise him that the two of them had struck up a deal, and apparently a friendship as well. Carlisle estimated her to be in her mid-fifties, but Claire had already established that she didn't care about age differences. The woman stuck a hand on her slightly plump hip and set the paper bag on the counter.

"There you go dear. Say hi to Claire for me, will you?"

"Of course," he replied as he handed her the money," and thank you."

"Oh it's no matter," she waved him off as he left the shop. The door had already closed behind him as he heard her mutter to herself: "My, my Claire. Hopefully you don't let this one get away, dear."

His chest constricted for a fraction of a second at the implication. Was this the impression he made? That in a way, he was trying to woo her? Did Claire think so too? Surely, this could not be the impression she had of him. The thought seemed ridiculous and slightly outrageous to him- not the thought the he might be interested in her, but the thought that a cupcake would be deemed a sufficient form of courtship. Of course the times had changed, but surely nobody would mistake such a friendly gesture as an attempt to romance her. With the things she did for strangers alone, with the way she cared, Claire deserved so much more- the thought that anybody would expect a cupcake as enough to earn her affection seemed so ridiculous to him that it had not even crossed his mind.

He stopped right in front of the door, hand on the knob, worry pooling in his belly. Worry, that his visits made Claire uncomfortable because she might think he was harboring an unwelcome interest in her, even if his rational mind told him that there had been no evidence that this was the case. In fact, sometimes he had even thought she might be flirting a little, but he reasoned that she was simply teasing him. He had witnessed her talking to several other people in the same way, even though she kept mentioning his beauty- which obviously meant little.

Carlisle had never been vain, and had always been largely indifferent to his supernatural beauty. Sometimes it was bothersome, since it drew so much attention, but then again he was aware of how much easier it sometimes made their lives, even if he resented having to exploit it. But now he wished that he'd remained plain, _normal_ , so he could gauge her true reaction to him, aside from his looks.

Not that he believed that she would care much about such trivialities, on the contrary, he distinctly felt that his supernatural beauty was something that kept her at bay. He briefly ran through their conversations in his head, tried to find a clue of what she thought. He didn't want to lead her on and make the impression they were headed for something that could not happen.

Before he could make sense of his confusion, a movement behind the door caught his attention, and the door opened in front of him. Claire stood in the doorway, hair in a disheveled bun, eyebrows raised questioningly. "I know this door is pretty, but you've been staring at it for a solid three minutes, and I was getting a little worried to be honest."

He chuckled lightly. "I'm sorry. I was lost in thought, it seems."

Carlisle made to move, but Claire raised her hand and narrowed her eyes. "Hold up, stop right there. I haven't forgotten yesterday, so tell me: Who seeks entrance, Carrot Carlisle or Cupcake Cullen?" She stared at him suspiciously, but the left corner of her mouth wobbled slightly.

He lifted the bag and the coffee in front of him and lowered his head slightly. "My sincerest apologies. I behaved horribly and I regret it immensely."

She grinned brightly and took the bags from him. "Apology accepted," she mumbled as she took a sip from the coffee, quickly followed by a muttered expletive as she promptly burned her mouth. Amused he watched her hoping from foot to foot to distract herself from the pain, and stepped past her inside the shop as she made way for him. Inside, two customers were sat at the tables, four more were idly browsing the shelves. Emily's spot on the couch was vacant, and he remembered the conversation he had overheard earlier.

Out of the corner of his eye he watched Claire lightly shoving a customers shoulder as they were both laughing about something. He compared the way she acted with the man to the way she interacted with him, and found no big difference. With Alex, on the other hand, her discomfort had been plainly evident, and Carlisle was relieved that she didn't seem to feel this way around him. Evidently she thought of him just the same as any other customer. _Which is a good thing_ , he reminded himself.

And then a new thought entered his mind as he watched Claire put her hand on the man's arm. What if he had it all wrong? What if none of this had ever crossed her mind? What if the reason that she had turned down Alex because there was already somebody else in her life? Did he really expect her to be attracted to him, because he was outwardly beautiful?

He ran through the information he had on her, and to his surprise he realized that it wasn't all that much. He knew that she and her parents were estranged, but not why, knew of her uncle and Alfred, knew that she had friends, and some of her views and favorite books. But apart from that, he realized with a start, she was still somewhat of a stranger to him. Which seemed strange to him, since he felt like he already knew her quite well.

Claire left the man to his own devices and headed towards him with a smile, and he realized why the thought hadn't ever crossed his mind: because she already seemed complete and content on her own. He couldn't imagine that she would need anybody else, and he couldn't know if she _wanted_ anyone next to her.

"Okay, so either you made a scarily accurate guess about my usual order" Claire said as she fished the cupcake and the banana from the paper bag, "or someone has been talking to Donna."

"She says hello," he answered with a lopsided smile. Claire looked away hastily and turned towards the counter.

"So," she began after she cleared her throat," the basket is ready. I stuck with _A Sicilian Romance_ because I really love it, and oriented the others around it theme-wise. Nothing edible in there, like we agreed, and I added a handmade lemon soap like a protagonist uses in one of the books, some dried lavender and other things that reflect certain aspects of the books." Claire explained in a slightly breathless voice as she hoisted the basket on top of the counter. Carlisle shot her a brief look and wondered if she was okay, but she didn't look any different than usual, except for the slightest flush of color on her cheeks. _Did she find me talking to Donna intrusive?_

Claire still looked at the basket and talked about the books and trinkets she had chosen, all arranged tastefully in a straw-filled wicker basket.

"It looks wonderful. Thank you, I really appreciate it."

She waved his thanks away. "Oh, my pleasure. It's my job, after all." As he reached for his wallet, a customer that was sat behind him inhaled sharply.

"Oh, no _fucking_ way!"

Claire laughed at his outraged exclamation and nodded towards the outraged man as she grabbed a book from the counter. "Sorry, I'll be right with you."

Carlisle turned around and watched Claire hold out the book just as the man shut his closed and slammed it on the table with slightly more force than was strictly necessary. He cast her a surprised look as she waved the in front of him. "Here, it's the next one. Don't worry, it gets better," she added with a wink. The man complained about cliffhangers as he reached for his wallet, but Claire waved him off and told him he could pay her later. With a slight pat on his shoulder she returned to Carlisle at the counter.

"Always prepared, I see," he mused with a smile, and Claire shrugged it off.

"I have to look out for my patients, don't I?"

"Is he one then?"

"Kind of. The bored type- a banker," she explained with a wry grin. Then she looked expectantly at him, as if she was unsure of what he wanted to do now, a slight insecurity about her that he had rarely experienced with her. It gripped him too; and he felt out of sorts, unsure whether he ought to take his leave or stay. He wasn't sure if the latter was welcome. He didn't want to crowd her.

His musings were suddenly cut short as bright sunlight flooded the store. Instinctively he took a step back towards the shadows, even though the light had simply hit his trousers and shoes. Claire's eyes followed his movement sharply, and the back of his neck tingled with alarm, worried that she might have noticed it. The crease between her eyebrows promised nothing good, he decided. Hurriedly he tried to smooth the moment over by walking deeper into the shop, away from the windows and towards the library section. He pointed towards the shelves.

"I was considering to make use of your library, if you don't mind."

"Of course, that's what it's there for." She smiled at him, but the crease didn't vanish.

He walked over to the shelves as if he had meant to do it in the first place, casting a glance back in between. Claire was back behind the counter, talking to one of the customers, shooting the occasional glance into his direction. Behind her, the sun shone through the windows. Now he would have to stay longer, and a small part in him that he didn't wish to examine closer was relieved at the excuse.

As he browsed the shelves, he briefly considered calling home, but the others wouldn't be worried. He trailed his hands along the books until his eyes fell on Narnia. With a small smile, he pulled it from the shelf and opened it randomly. The pages were illustrated, and worn with use.

"The red ribbon is Emily's, if you want to live, you'll better take care not to lose her place," Claire said from the counter where she'd been watching him with a smile.

"Thanks for the warning," he called back as he traced the frayed red ribbon that hung between the pages. He wanted to put the book back, but then he remembered that he was supposed to branch out on his reading now. So he turned around and walked to the couch that Emily usually occupied. As he wanted to sit down his eyes fell on one of the pillows and he burst out laughing. In bold letters it read "I LIKE BIG BOOKS AND I CANNOT LIE".

Carlisle settled onto the couch and opened Narnia at the first page. The first couple of pages flew by quickly, and he found that he enjoyed the book more than he had anticipated. After all, it was mostly an excuse to stay a little longer and to avoid exposure to the sunlight. Howver, his attention was ripped from Lucy's conversation with Mr. Tumnus as the shops' doorbell announced a new customer.

He watched Claire greet the newly arrived man with a hug. He was tall, dark skinned and had a friendly smile to him, and Carlisle dimly recalled having seen him somewhere around the hospital now and then. He and Claire chatted amiably while they walked to the counter, and Carlisle decided that he had done enough eavesdropping for one day. He returned his attention firmly to his book, but his excellent hearing got the better of him anyways as Claire said: "Sure, can you come and pick me up tomorrow at around 4pm? Kelsey will be here by then."

The man blushed slightly and mumbled a confirmation while he avoided her eyes, and Claire broadly grinned up at him. Carlisle shifted in his seat. _Was this the reason she'd turned down Alex?_

He studied the man briefly. He seemed to be thirty years old, Carlisle estimated, and in good shape. Handsome enough, with a kind smile, and Claire seemed relaxed around him, which he supposed was a good sign. But the whole interaction left Carlisle uneasy nonetheless. The man agreed and Claire stretched her arms up to hug him goodbye. She almost vanished in his large arms. A few seconds later, he was gone.

Claire turned around suddenly and met his eyes. She tilted her head questioningly and gave him a small smile, but she didn't walk over to him. Instead she made her rounds through the shop, talking to lingering customers, and Carlisle averted his eyes to the book. But despite his best efforts, he couldn't concentrate on the pages any longer. Instead he watched her over the top of his book as she interacted with her customers.

It was evident she knew all of them to some extent, and Carlisle watched her drift from customer to customer, handing out books and making jokes here and there, asking questions in a low voice. Her presence filled the shop, but he noticed that she took care not to crowd anyone, always sensing whether her presence was wanted or not.

He admired the way she handled herself around her customers, and it was plain to see that she was wonderful at what she did. It gave him joy to see how appreciated she was by her customers- nearly all of them sought her out immediately after entering the shop, and she quickly found what they needed. A woman carrying flowers entered the shop to thank Claire for a suggestion she had made, and the two women gushed about the book for solid ten minutes. Again he couldn't help but notice how evident her passion for her work was, and it wistfully reminded him of himself in those first decades after he had mastered his thirst and earned his skill as a doctor.

But then, as the medical field changed and hospitals grew in size, and the regulations became much more strict, he had had to reign his enthusiasm in. His apparent youth had gradually become more and more of a problem, and he had found that a professional dignity helped his act more than youthful enthusiasm.

Yet Claire seemed to have no use for dignity. She had already hinted that her youth was sometimes a source of conflict when it came to her job, but it seemed like she did not care much whether people thought her too young to help people with their problems. The thought that someone might consider her unfit to give any substantial advice seemed ridiculous to Carlisle, but maybe her maturity and wisdom weren't as apparent to others as they were to him. He had lived for so long, maybe it had become easier for him to recognize such talent more easily.

As he watched her, he couldn't help but think of his family. As much as he considered all of them his children, he knew that he was not their father by far- which was why he tried not to impose on their personal lives apart from his duties as a coven leader. He had already made an enormous decision for most of them, and he knew that, while they all believed in their way of living, he was their main reason for following it so closely. After all they had had to content with on his account, he felt it would be improper to meddle in their affairs more than necessary, and by all accounts, they were adults in their own right. After all, now all of them were married, and except for Edward and Alice, all of them had had fathers of their own. He knew that the only one who truly considered him as his father was Edward. And yet, despite all of it, in his heart they were his children nonetheless, and he could not help but worry.

He had been the one who had implemented the teenager cover story at first, back when it would have been impossible for them to work properly. And then, Rose had wanted to stick with it, simply because it bought them more time in one place. They had talked it over everytime they moved, and he had tried to ensure that they knew that they did not need to live with him, that they might make of their lives what they wanted- but they stayed with him, and they stayed teenagers in the public eye. And Carlisle felt horrible for it, even as he tried to hide it. After all, was it not his fault, since he changed them so young? Of course he realized that he had had little choice, except to let them die. Edward and himself had discussed this a hundred times, but still he worried that he might have damaged them in some way.

Over the years, all of them had dabbled in several careers, but none of it had stuck, even when anonymous work became so much easier with the rise of the internet. He worried that they were lacking something, had wondered if they were too young to find their path. Then he had tried to make his piece with it, reminding himself how long it had taken him to find his passion. Physically, he was not much older than them, but it had taken him around fifty years to find his path, and then a century more to master his thirst properly.

Only once he tried addressing it. None of them were concerned about the issue, and Emmett made a joke about how Carlisle – and Edward, who had been attending medical school once more at the time- had enough time to become famous physicians, since they weren't busy with other things, at which he had winked at Rose. Carlisle had laughed, but sometimes he wondered if there was a truth to it. Was he the one who needed to change, in the end?

But now that he watched Claire, who was so young and yet so fulfilled by her work, he felt once more hope that it was possible for his children to find purpose beyond their daily charades. After all, hadn't he also feared that Edward would remain alone because he had changed him too young? No, maybe there was hope after all.

For the good part of an hour, the sun hung bright in the sky, apparently content to remain out in the open. Carlisle remained in the shadows in the back of the store, content to just sit idle. It was something he had not done in a while- usually he was always busying himself with work or the additional paperwork that his family's forged identities necessitated. There was always something to do, and Carlisle liked it that way, because it kept the monotony that almost four centuries of living tended to bring at bay.

But now, for once, he enjoyed having nowhere to go and nothing to do, except sit here and read a book and to listen to other people's chitchat. For once, life was easy- and with a start he realized how stressful the last years had been.

While he certainly was happy that Bella had joined their family, there was no denying that her and Edward's relationship had brought quite the upheaval. Only now, after they had been married for over two years and that Bella was slowly leaving her newborn phase behind her and they recovered from certain unfortunate happenings and their consequent recent move, did things slowly return to normal.

Slowly the shop became emptier and the mood shifted subtly as the sunlight began to lose strength. A quick glance on his watch told him he'd been there for almost one and a half hours, and the shop would be closing soon. He hoped he would find a shadowy path by then, otherwise he would have to resort to some risky escape using his speed.

A shadow fell over him as Claire leaned against the table closest to him. She'd been checking up on him now and then, but mostly left him to his own devices as she had her shop to run. Now she gave him a smile and nodded towards his book.

"How are we holding up here?"

"I think Edmund is close to an epiphany."

"What, that's were you are? After all that fastidious reading I'd have assumed you would already be aboard the _Dawn Treader,"_ Claire said with a grin, and Carlisle chuckled to mask his slight self-consciousness.

"I know, it's quite silly for a grown man to read a children's book."

Claire's eyes went round with surprise and she shook her head fervently. "Oh no, that is not what I meant at all. I was simply saying that I'm happy to see you read something. It's not silly at all; in fact, it shows that you have good taste."

She asked him a few questions about the book and soon they were in deep conversation about Edmund, his journey, and the value of second chances, which in turn led her to inquire about his becoming an adoptive father. Carlisle was wary of her questions since they always turned out slightly dangerous, but she was sitting across from him, and her questions were gentle, so he decided to be as genuine as he could. He told her the official story they went by, and it was apparent she had already heard it before. She didn't mention his recent confession about his guilt, but she asked whether or not they regretted moving and how it was living with four teenagers.

"Eventful, certainly," he chuckled. "Sometimes the bickering doesn't stop for days."

Claire studied him and smiled slightly. " You don't regret taking them on then?"

"No, not for one second."

"I'm glad for you." She wrapped her hand around her neck and regarded him with a tilted head and narrowed eyes. "How old are you? If you don't mind me asking."

He shifted a little uncomfortably, avoiding her eyes as he told her the age he was officially going by as of now: "Thirty-two."

Claire's eyebrows shot up and she laughed. "Really? I mean, it figures, considering your job and all, but you don't look it." He didn't answer, but to his relief she had already moved on. "So, that would mean you were what? Twenty-eight? Twenty-nine when you adopted them?"

"Twenty-eight, yes."

"That's a lot of responsibility for someone so young."

He smiled as he put the book on the table next to the couch. "Almost like moving to the other end of the earth to take care of a stranger at the age of 21."

She laughed a little at that, and dropped the subject then, sensing that he wouldn't expose more on the matter. Instead she grabbed Narnia from the table, secured the red ribbon and carried it over to the shelf. As she slid it into place, she asked, voice a little too casual: "So, I hope that Alice will like the basket. I'm still a little- "

Her inquiry got cut short by the buzzing of the shops phone, and Claire hurried over to it with an apology and a frown towards the clock. Carlisle glanced outside as she muttered her greeting. The sun was almost gone by now. He considered the angle of the sun and which route to take to his car when his thoughts were interrupted by a sharp intake of breath behind him. Claire's heart stuttered twice and then sped up, and he turned to see her, eyes big, one hand grabbing the edge of the desk, the other clutching the phone, knuckles white.

In a flash he stood and hurried over to her, as she choked out: "Is he going to be alright?!"

He listened intently as the voice on the phone replied: "We can't tell anything yet, I'm afraid. His leg is fractured, that much is certain, but the scans will tell whether or not there is any internal bleeding- we're suspecting his spleen might be ruptured- we're expecting…," the voice droned on and Claire, who had gone pale as a sheet shook her head as if she was in a daze.

"Yes, but what does that mean?!" She asked, voice getting more and more frantic. The caller told her to wait, and Claire shot him a panicked look, her face pale as a sheet. Ignoring all forms of proper conduct, he rounded the counter and stood next to her.

"What's wrong? Claire?"

She swallowed audibly and covered her phone with her hand. "It's Uncle Q. Apparently some part of the ceiling collapsed and crashed down on him- he's got a broken leg and is in the hospital, but they can't tell... I don't know what's happening. And there's nobody else, and I'm half a world away and-" she rambled in a whisper, eyes wide and scared, and he grabbed her arm to calm her down.

"Claire, he's in medical care, that's all that matters. If they took the time to call you, it's probably not as bad. I know you're scared, but blaming yourself and panicking doesn't help anyone right now."

Claire's lips pressed together, but she nodded. "I know, it's just- Hello? Yes, I'm listening!" She started pacing while she listened to the brief report the doctor gave her over the line. From what Carlisle could hear surgery would be necessary, but there were good chances that her uncle would recover. Unless, which the doctor informed her himself now, they had missed any cerebral hemorrhages, which was always a risk with such accidents. Halfway through, Claire got frustrated and tried to shove the phone in his hands, telling the man on the phone that there was a doctor standing next to her who could make more use out of this information, but Carlisle shook his head.

"I'm not a relative, he's not allowed to tell me anything," he whispered, just as the man told her the same thing. With a frustrated groan she simply started repeating loudly what the man told her, looking at him with a hard look on her face. Patiently he waited while she told him what he'd already heard- a part of him wanted to cut her off and tell her it was of no use, but he recognized how she felt. Right now, telling him and getting his assessment of the situation was the only thing she could do, the only thing that made her feel useful, so he listened intently to her report and nodded his understanding. After she was done, she reached under the counter and threw a key at him, before pointing to the door. With a nod he did as she bid and locked the shop while she ended the call.

As he turned back towards her, she stemmed her fists into her sides. "So, the truth, and no coddling, please," she said, chin drawn up and some unshed tears in her eyes. "Is he going to die?"

He shook his head slowly and walked back to her. "I don't know, Claire. From what the doctor has told you, I would assume there is a good chance he will make a full recovery, but there could always be a hemorrhage they can't see yet. The only thing we can do about that is to wait and see what comes up. His spleen does seem to be ruptured, but even that doesn't always necessitate surgery. But they sounded perfectly capable- I am sure he gets the best treatment that is possible."

She closed her eyes then, took a deep breath and nodded. When she opened them again, the panic was gone, but her heartbeat was still accelerated. With another deep breath she ran her hands over her face and tangled them in her hair. "Okay, I need to book the next flight possible, and then call Kelsey and call the insurance and-," she started, but stopped herself and reached for a pen and a notepad instead. He watched silently as the list grew longer and heard as her heartbeat picked up again as the panic came back.

"Do you want some help?" he offered, expecting her to turn him down. It was certainly a personal matter, and he wasn't sure if she was comfortable enough with him to involve him, or if she felt that this was something she had to shoulder by herself. Obviously she had already involved him to some extend, but that had more to do with his occupation than her trust in his person.

But again, she surprised him. Her shoulders sagged as she sighed, and her voice was tiny as she said: "Yes, please." His silent heart constricted at the sight of her vulnerability, and her pain hit him in a way he had not anticipated. Wordlessly he reached for his phone and searched for the right number.

"Go call Kelsey and take care of the personal things, I will secure a flight for you. Drink something, too, preferably with sugar in it," he ordered in his best doctor voice, and she complied without complaint. Only when he gave his credit information a couple of minutes later did she protest, but he raised a hand and waved her complaints away. She stopped hissing, but shot him a glare anyhow, and despite the seriousness of the situation he couldn't help but smile a little over her annoyed look. He ended the call and intercepted her protest. "I know, I didn't need to, but it was easier this way. You can pay me back later, now stop worrying, please," he told her, and she sighed once.

"Okay. Thank you. It wasn't necessary, but thank you."

He nodded. "Your flight goes tomorrow morning at quarter past six, it's the earliest they had. How will you get there? I'm sure I can arrange something..." he mused. He could trade shifts or have one of the others drive her there…

"Thank you, but it's really not necessary, I'll just get a cab."

"Oh, of course. Let me take care of that, you continue with your calls." He waved at the list she had made, and they both picked up their phones again. Twenty minutes later they had worked off the list and Claire had dutifully eaten her banana by his order. He studied her as she shut down her computer. She seemed calmer now that the worst was taken care of and she was practically on her way; her pulse was normal, her face looked less pale and she was less frenzied, even if she still seemed shaken.

As she hoisted his book basket on the counter, her eyes fell on the flowers she had gotten earlier, and she plucked them from the vase. " Here, take these with you and give them to Alice from me, will you? They'll be withered anyways by the time I get back." She wrapped them in some tissues and laid them next to the basket, and as he reached for his wallet she shook her head.

"No, really, just take it. You already paid for my flight, and I already locked up, it's easier this way."

He wanted to protest, but he reminded himself that she hadn't put up a fight earlier, so he decided to abide by her wishes. Carlisle studied her tired face with concern. "Is there anything else I can do?"

"No, you've already done too much. Don't worry, Haley's coming over right now and she'll help me pack. I don't really know how long I'll have to stay and help him."

Only then did he realize that this meant she could be gone several weeks, and he'd have nowhere to disappear to. Which reminded him of an unresolved issue, and he reached inside his jacket's pocket.

"Here, I'm not completely done, but it might be something to keep you occupied. This way, maybe you won't worry incessantly," he tried to tease, but his stomach felt slightly hollow as he handed her his copy of _Leaves of Grass_.

Claire laughed and pocketed the book. "I always worry incessantly. But yes, this might keep me well occupied."

He bowed a little as she stepped out from behind the counter, and said:" Always happy to be of service."

"You were." She said, a small, wobbly smile on her lips, and then she was suddenly closer to him than he was used to, and within a heartbeat her arms wrapped around his torso. Her forehead pressed into his shoulder as she hugged him tightly. "Thank you Carlisle." Her voice was barely above a whisper, muffled by his jacket, and his heart felt like it ought to have stopped, were it still beating.

It only lasted a couple of seconds, but his body went rigid with surprise. He barely managed to wrap his arms halfway around her by instinct, before she stepped back, her hands sliding down his arms to grab his icy hands. She didn't flinch at their coolness, instead she squeezed them firmly as she looked up at him. "Really, I wouldn't have known what to do. I'm glad you were there. " He felt himself nod, incapable of forming a coherent phrase, occupied with the way her hair framed her face, her scent a potent cloud around them. Her eyes were wide and vulnerable, her lip a little red where she'd constantly bitten it over the last hour. Carlisle realized that he was staring, and told himself to step away and acknowledge her words, but he couldn't find it in himself to look away. Instead, his hands squeezed back, and they stared at each other, a fraction longer than was normal.

"Claire, I'm here!"

They both jumped apart slightly as someone knocked at the door outside, and Claire seemed to avoid his eyes as she unlocked the door. A pretty woman with straight dark hair and large brown eyes stood outside. Her eyebrows were raised questioningly as she threw a pointed look at Claire, before she looked at Carlisle.

"Sorry, I thought you were alone."

"I was just locking up, and Carlisle was there when I got the call. He's a doctor, so I pestered him with questions." Claire explained. It was true enough, but her voice seemed too casual, and the woman didn't look entirely convinced. Then Claire shook her head slightly and waved her hand between them. "Oh, I'm sorry, I'm being rude. Haley, this is Doctor Carlisle Cullen, Carlisle, this is my friend Haley."

They exchanged greetings, and Claire gave her keys to Haley. "I'll be there in a sec- I'll just lock up."  
Haley looked like she wanted to say something, but Claire threw her a pointed look and with a shrug she grabbed the keys and walked of to their right, were she disappeared behind a door he hadn't noticed before.

Claire turned back to him and rubbed her arm awkwardly. He didn't know what to say, so he turned and retrieved the basket and the flowers before he stepped outside so she could lock up behind them.

Outside it was already twilight, so he walked the few steps to her door next to her in silence. They stopped in front of it, and Claire thanked him again for his help.

"It was my pleasure. I, too, like to help," he said with a smile and Claire laughed. Then an idea crossed his mind and he reached into his pocket to retrieve a piece of paper and a pen. He had business cards somewhere, but they felt too impersonal for a situation like this. "Here is my number- if you want to get a second opinion on your uncles progress, you can call me. And… if you simply want someone to talk to, as well."

Claire smiled and pocketed the number with a nod. "Thank you, I really appreciate it."

He didn't want to leave her alone, but he sensed that it was time to go, and she was taken care of for now. So he nodded briefly and reached out to squeeze her shoulder, relieved when she didn't draw back. "So, I guess I'll leave you to it then. I hope your uncle recovers fast, and that everything will go over as smoothly as possible."

"Yes, me too. I'll keep you posted on what's happening, and I'll see that I'll comb through leaves of Grass so I can give you a diagnosis as soon as I get back. And say hi to Alice for me, and wish her all the best tomorrow, will you?"

"Certainly. Well… have a good flight, then. Goodbye Claire."

She patted his arm and nodded. "Goodbye, Carlisle."

With that she stepped back and vanished behind the door, her voice still hanging in the air as he turned to leave, thoughts racing in his mind.

He hoped she'd be alright, and prayed she wouldn't need to suffer another loss. The scared look on her face had cut him deep, how tiny her voice had sounded, how she'd cast aside all pride and asked for his help. No, more than that, she'd relied on him, and he realized that it felt good that she had counted on him, hadn't thought that he was too much of a stranger to ask for help. A tiny part of his brain also registered the fact that Alex had made no appearance on her list. His shoulder still tingled were her head had rested, and his jacket still smelled like her arms. How long had it been since someone had hugged him, apart from his family? And how different it had been, soft and warm and _alive_. He wondered what she would think of his notes on Leaves of Grass, he worried that he might give away too much, that her sharp mind would see too much. Worried what might happen if she did, and for once not because of the consequences for his family.  
Wondered why his name sounded different when she said it, wondered why it mattered in the first place.

Purple and pink lines blurred in the sky and the faint buzz of an airplane made him look up. He wondered how long she'd be gone.


	8. London Calling

Hey lovelies! Thank you so much for all the encouragement and your patience in sticking with this. I'm sorry it takes me so long to update right now, but I'll be moving and starting my new job in the next week, and that takes up a lot of time as you can probably guess. So, this chapter is going to be a little shorter- right now I'll opt for shorter chapters, which means a little less is happening, but this way, I can update a little more often. Time to go to London! I hope you enjoy it. As always, I am super happy about feedback and thoughts. If you wanna chat, head over to my tumblr under the name forksfiction, where I discuss TLP and Twilight in general and where it is waaay easier to pester me so I actually have an incentive to update faster ;) xx

* * *

The engines roared furiously as the pressure grew. For a few moments, she was pressed into her entirely too comfortable seat as the plane detached from the ground and slowly rose towards the thick layer of clouds. Outside it was still dark, but as the plane slowly started to turn eastward in a wide circle, Claire could see the faint pink and orange streaks of dawn break across the sky.

Slowly they climbed through the clouds, and she pressed her forehead against the icy window pane in an effort to distract herself. She had spent the night talking to Haley, packing her bags and arranging everything that needed to be taken care of, then he had collapsed on her bed, only to wake up half an hour too late and rushed to the airport. Now was the first moment of calm since she had gotten the call last evening, and there was nothing to distract her from the impending chaos she was heading towards.

Before she had left her flat this morning, she had called at the hospital, and as far as the doctors could tell, Q would be alright. They had to remove his spleen, his leg was fractured multiple times but set now, and he was still asleep, but as far as they could tell there would be no lasting damage. _He would be alright._

The shop however, was another matter. She'd called Mrs. Pellegrier, who lived upstairs from Q and loved nothing more than involving herself in other people's business. According to her, there had been a water-pipe burst in the ceiling above the shop, which had caused parts of it to cave and that damaged most of the _Pharmacy_ severely.

Claire's stomach lurched at the thought and she fought down the panic she felt rising in her throat. To distract herself she reached for her bag. With a small smile she pulled a paper bag from her carry-on. This morning, she'd found it hanging on her door, a banana, a cupcake and a handwritten note inside.

 _Skipping breakfast is not healthy._  
I do hope your uncle recovers soon. Feel free to call me whenever you need anything- even if it is nothing but an open ear.  
Have a good flight.

Unbidden tears sprung in her eyes as she read the note again. She supposed it was the stress, but the kindness he had shown her- was still showing her- overwhelmed her spontaneously.  
She had her friends, yes, but ultimately, it was _her_ people depended on in strenuous times. It simply was part of her make-up, of her natural disposition, to be a caretaker, to take charge, to help. Her history had equipped her well for it; and her character was suited for it as well. She was used to fighting for something.

First with her family, then she had to make living with Q work, then Alfred's illness, and later, keeping the shop afloat with no experience whatsoever. And she'd never minded; in fact, she felt better to be proactive in times of need. And in turn, people rarely helped her, since she was usually the one who took care of everything.

But the last years had instilled the feeling in her that life usually came with struggles, even if she wanted to believe otherwise. So when she'd suddenly got help from him, without even asking, it had hit her hard. Yes, she had called him her friend before, but in the end they didn't know each other for that long, she reminded herself, and he had been in no way obligated to help her. And he'd been so calm and gentle during it all, and not the in the slightest fazed by her breakdown. Of course his job was the reason for that, but his quiet strength had been comforting to her, and she was so grateful he had been there.

A treacherous warmth spread through her, and she quickly pulled out Carlisle's copy of _Leaves of Grass_ to distract herself from her wound up emotions. She quickly thumbed through the book to get a feeling for the system he had used to mark the passages that had struck with him: A mix of markings and notes in his clear, sleek handwriting she'd already seen on his note.

When she'd gotten a feeling for his _modus operandi_ -as she jokingly called it- she opened the first page and started reading.

"Here we are, Miss."

The voice of the cab driver pulled Claire from her reverie. The dread in her stomach grew stronger as she handed him the money. They exited the car, and while he pulled her luggage from the trunk, Claire studied the sinister brownstone facade of the London Royal Hospital. It was strange being back, and the hospital seemed to embody London perfectly to her- a once beautiful facade, smeared with several layers of dirt, somewhat foreboding, but still beautiful. She'd always loved London, but now, as she checked the street and felt silly for looking the wrong way first, she realised that it was no longer her home.

In a quick half-jog she crossed the busy street and promptly got the wheel of her suitcase stuck in a crack on the street. With some effort she pulled it free and hauled it on the sidewalk. She probably should've gone to the shop first, to get her luggage out of the way, but she had needed to see her uncle, and, if she was honest, she couldn't face the carnage yet. To see the _Pharmacy_ in ruins was more than she could take at the moment. _One catastrophe after the other._

She walked through the faint drizzle towards the illuminated entrance. The thick cover of clouds blocked out the light, making it seem later than it was- only half past six in the evening, but Claire felt like it was the middle of the night already. In a hurry, she headed for the lobby.

After several minutes of wandering through stuffy hotel wards, she had finally found her way in front of the right door. With a determined huff, Claire raised her shoulders and pushed it open.

Two beds occupied the room. The one closest to her lay empty, the crumpled sheets pushed back. The other one was occupied however, with bony shoulders protruding beneath the blanket, gently moving in his sleep, a mob of light brown curls above them, head turned away. His right leg lay on top of the blanket, encased in a thick cast. Claire choked down a sob and refrained from running to his side. Instead, she pushed her luggage out of the way and sanitized her hands first. In her head she randomly heard Carlisle chuckle. _Very responsible._ Somehow, the thought was comforting to her.

Slowly she walked around the bed so she could look at him. Q was sleeping on his back, facing towards the window, and her heart constricted painfully as she saw his face. Several cuts and scrapes adorned his face, the worst a thick cut atop his left brow that had already been stitched up. The lights in the room were turned off, save for a low maintenance light, and the last dim daylight that managed to filter down through the clouds, and his complexion looked pale, almost waxen. His glasses lay on the bedside table, leaving his face strangely naked and vulnerable. He always used to fall asleep with his glasses on, a book still in his hand, and she had rarely seen him without them. It was so strange, seeing him like this.  
Claire gently brushed his sweaty, matted locks away from his forehead and studied his face, both familiar and strange. It had been almost a year since she'd last seen him, but his face was a part of her. Quite literally, since they shared a fair part of their features- they had the same eyes, the same high-arched brows and a wide forehead, the same mouth. From her looks, she could've been his daughter more than her fathers, the only thing she had inherited from _him_ was her strong jaw, whereas Q and him both shared the strong, angular nose that had forgone her, and that gave Q an almost aquiline look that balanced out his otherwise more feminine features. With his wide-set, intelligent eyes, his unruly hair and unusual attitude, Q had always been handsome, and had never lacked any female attention. Now his hair was showing the first gray streaks and his eyes were rimmed with with lines, but age did nothing to detriment his draw. He was four years older than her father, his forty- fourth birthday just a couple of weeks away. _To young to die._

That thought finally wrenched the sob from her throat, and her careful composure broke. With shaking hands she silently pulled a chair over to his bedside and carefully sat next to the IV stand that was attached to his hand. Carefully she took his hand in hers, stroking the back of his hand behind the tube, the first silent tears making their way down her cheeks. His hands were cold and dry, and despite hearing his slow breathing, she circled her finger around his wrist and search for his pulse. She found it, slow, but steady, and with a relieved sob she laid her forehead down on his arm, careful not to wake him. Suddenly she felt feeble and weak, like the little girl she had been when she had come to live with him. They'd both been afraid back then, hadn't known each other well,and Q had never been touchy-feely. But she remembered the way he had patted her head slightly awkwardly and told her that it'd be alright. _This is only the Inciting Incident, Claire. The story's just starting, you just wait. It will be quite alright._ Now, all she wanted was his big hand on the back of her head again. It hit her how close she had come to losing him, without being able to even say goodbye.

But right now, he needed her, not the other way around- he had taken her in, had taken care of her for years, and now it was time to pay him back. She needed to compose herself while he was still asleep- but Claire knew that trying to suppress her feelings would be of no help. So she laid her cheek on his arm and allowed herself to feel the fear, the anger, the almost-loss she had suffered, her index finger still on his pulse. The hospital around her was silent for the most part, despite the constant London noise that drifted through the window. A clock on the wall was ticking away. Above her she heard the steady drip of the IV, almost in the same rhythm Q's pulse beat slowly under her finger and the lilting in-and-out of his breaths. Claire relaxed her shoulders, stiff from eight hours of travel and strain, and concentrated on her uncle's breath, using it's rhythm to calm herself. In and out. _In and out. In… and out…. In…..  
_

The sound of a door opening and several people talking woke her up. Claire tried to lift her head, and felt a weight on the back of it that disappeared after a second. Disoriented, she looked up, her arm tingling uncomfortably where she had rested on it. She blinked, her eyes dry and slightly raw, to see a group of three people standing in the room, one of them on crutches, who heaved himself onto the bed, the others in street clothes, chatting amiably. The woman in the group shot her a look and raised her hand to her cheek.

"Oh I am so sorry, we didn't want to wake you up, dear."

"S'alright," Claire mumbled, voice hoarse, and pushed herself into a sitting position. She hadn't meant to fall asleep. Wearily she rubbed her face and made to push her sleeve up so she could check her watch.

"Twenty past seven. You were only out for half an hour."

Claire's head whipped up and she stared at Q, who was smiling at her wearily. "Hey little Dormouse."

Something that was half a laugh and half a sob wrenched itself from her throat and she shot up to hug him, carefully avoiding to disturb any of the medical instruments he was still attached to.

He wrapped one arm awkwardly around her shoulders, and she felt her hair stir slightly when he chuckled. "You're being utterly dramatic, Claire."

She pulled back and glared at him, the effect ruined by the unshed tears in her eyes. Q took her in and his mirth disappeared slightly as he saw her red eyes and smeared make-up. He raised his long, spindly hand to pat her cheek, like he had always done when she was upset. " Oh dearie, I'm so sorry you worried. But I'm fine. Promise."

She wanted to argue that a broken leg and internal surgery hardly counted as _fine_ in her opinion, but thought better of it. It had been an accident, and no-one was to blame, no matter how relieving it would be to find someone. With no-one at fault and to chastise, Claire felt helpless and vulnerable. Against fate and bad luck she was powerless. So she swallowed her protest and squeezed his hand instead.

"You know, if you wanted me to visit you, you could've just asked."

Q snorted in amusement, a habit she had adapted from him. He opened his mouth to answer her, when a knock on the door interrupted her. Her heart made a little lurch when the doctor entered, followed by a nurse. Both wore weary expressions, and the doctor seemed to struggle for a polite tone when he asked her and the other visitors to bid their goodbye's and leave the room. Claire stood and thought to adress the physician, but Q squeezed her hand and shook his head. They shared a silent conversation, and she understood his pointed look towards the man. _No use today._

"It 's alright, Claire. You go and get some sleep- you look like you're dead on your feet. Will you stay in the apartment?"

She swallowed her annoyance and ignored the impatient looks of the doctor. " That was the plan; Mrs. Pellergier said it was still inhabitable."

Q sighed. " Yes, I suppose that is lucky. Now, don't worry yourself; we'll figure it out. We always did, right?"

"Yes, we did… " A throat cleared behind her, and she bit down the urge to offer him a mint. Clearly he could spare them a minute? Her uncle shot her a warning glance, knowing her temper- and clearly not equipped with the strength to deal with the fall-out. No, right now, she needed to think of him. Claire bowed down and kissed his cheek, and with a promise to return the next morning, made her way out of the room.

After she closed the door, she stepped to the side and leaned against the wall, determined to wait the doctor out. She pulled out her cell, checked her face in the reflection of her screen and brushed away the remnants of her she called a cab that would take her to the Pharmacy. As she finished her hushed conversation, the door open and the doctor stepped out, giving her a disapproving look. Claire straightened and pulled her bag up on her shoulder to gather some sort of composure.

"I'm sorry to bother you, but I wanted to speak with you for a moment." Claire made a conscious effort to phrase it as a statement, rather than a question. He was tall, in his early forties, she presumed. Handsome enough, but tired, she could see. Annoyed by questioning relatives, quite apparently, and too enarmored with his position. He eyed her, not with appreciation, but rather with apprehension. _Trying to asses how annoying I will be._ "I'm his niece. My name is Claire Helene Deakin, you will find it in his file. He named me in his decree," she added to his benefit, before he could lecture her on the legality of disposing a patients information. To her surprise, he waved his hand impatiently.

"Yes, I am aware, Mr. Deakin just told me that I was to give you full disclosure on his recovery. Now, as you can see, I have many patients to attend to, so let this get over with quickly." He made true on his word, and quickly described what she had already heard over the telephone. After his efficient but unemotional report, he intercepted her questions with a quick farewell, and turned around to leave. His coat billowed around him, and Claire's fingers clenched around her phone. She itched to throw it against his retreating head- instead she wrote a message to a number she hadn't dealt before.

 _I know you have to sacrifice a lot to become a doctor, but I didn't realise your humanity was part of it._

With an angry huff she threw her phone into her bag and stomped out of the hospital, her suitcase frequently bumping into her heels. Outside, her cab was waiting. Within a few minutes, they were off towards the _Pharmacy_ , her suitcase securely stashed away. Outside, the light was almost gone, and Claire dully watched the lights flit past. Soon the streets were hauntingly familiar, and she almost felt as if she'd never left.

Her phone vibrated in her bag and she pulled it out.

 _Should I feel personally attacked or is there some reason for this accusation?_

She couldn't help a small smile.

 _No attack intended, but I feel like you might be the literal exception that proves the rule._

This time, the reply came instantly.

 _I take it a colleague is giving you a hard time? Are you alright? If I can be of any assistance, do not hesitate to tell me, please._

Claire started to reply when the car hit the familiar bumpers in the road. She looked up ahead, the _Pharmacy_ in view, it's windows dark, it's door closed. The cab pulled up out in front, and Claire wearily climbed out. From outside, the Pharmacy looked just like it always did, with it's old wooden facade and latticed windows. But she could feel the difference, even if it was only for the missing lights Q left on inside customarily.

Absentmindedly she accepted her suitcase from the driver and handed him the money.

With a queasy feeling in her stomach, she unearthed the key from the depths of her bag and pushed it into the lock, her fingers trembling slightly. As it slid in, she briefly pressed her eyes closed, and took a deep breath to steel herself. _No time like the present_. She turned the key and let herself in.

A wave of moist air hit her face, with the faintest traces of mold in it. Despite the humidity, she could smell dust and debris, nothing of the original smell that she identified with home left in the air.

Claire closed the door behind her and left the suitcase beside it. The light had grown so faint, she could hardly make out anything, but as far as she could tell, the front part of the shop had mostly been untouched. She made her way to the light switch, and without further ado, turned the lights on.

It was worse than she had feared. As she had glanced in the dark, the front of the store was largely unaffected, but the woods were scratched and the tables and shelves pushed aside where she figured the firemen had made space to get to Q, and the plumber had later made his way to salvage what he could.

The back of the store was what broke her heart. It was evident someone had cleared a path and tried to clean up hastily, but still several shelves were tipped over and books strewn across the floor. Slowly she made her way through the shop, eyes fixed ahead at the counter that was barely recognizable. It was covered in debris and bricks were the ceiling had caved above it. Someone had covered the hole with a plastic tarp to keep the rain out, and it rustled softly in the wind.

Claire stood still amidst the carnage, and tried to reconcile it with the place she had grown up in. How often had she argued that it was better to move the counter to the front where he could greet customers, but Q had insisted on leaving it in the back. _That way they need to move past all the books first._ If only he had listened to her, he wouldn't be in the hospital right now.

She shifted her weight, and paper crunched under her foot. She picked it up; it was a copy of _Shakespeare's The Tempest_ , its pages wilted and stained by already dried water. They rustled as she started to shake.

A hiccup shook her as she raised her cellphone that she'd still been holding, and with shaking fingers she replied: _No, I'm not. And yes, please._ Then she wrapped her arms around herself, and stared at what remained of her home, and felt like a little girl again.

Then her phone started ringing, and she jumped slightly. She checked the caller ID and answered the call, voice small and weary.

"Hi."

"Claire? Are you alright?" Carlisle asked urgently, not wasting time with a greeting. She wrapped her arm tighter around herself and nudged a book with her foot.

"I've been better."

"Where are you?"

"At the _Pharmacy_."

"Ah." He hesitated, obviously at a loss for what to say. In the end, he seemed to settle for being proactive. "Can I help you in any way?"

A shaky laugh escaped her and she ran a hand across her face. "No. I'm sorry, I'm sure you're busy. It's just way worse than I had expected, and it was a long day, and I didn't know what to do..."

"It's alright, Claire. You're not bothering me- I called you after all. And I understand. You must be overwhelmed right now." Then, his voice went from gentle to firm, and he cut off her protests. "Now, I may be limited in my options, being half a world away, but I believe I can be of assistance. It is perfectly normal to be overwhelmed, so let me do the thinking for you. When was the last time you ate something?"

"In the plane, about six hours ago. But I'm not hungry," she answered, and she heard his amusement even before he started talking.

"Of course you're not, but you will eat something anyways. If you want, I can order something for you. But you have to eat, Claire." She refrained from rolling her eyes, because she knew he was right.

"Alright, I'll eat. No need to order anything though, I'm staying at my uncle's flat, I'll find something there."

Carlisle seemed appeased by that. "Alright, so you have a place to stay, that's good. Are you still inside the _Pharmacy?"_

"Yes, I just arrived."

"Then lock up and leave for now. Right now, you can do nothing about it, except torturing yourself. You need to get something to eat and a good nights rest. The next days will be hard, and you will need all the strength you have."  
 _  
_She sighed and turned around. _"_ I know, I know. I'm leaving right now. _"_

"Good." She could hear the smile in his voice as she pushed her suitcase outside. "So, your message makes me assume you have already been to the hospital?"

"Oh my god!" She stuck her phone between her ear and shoulder as she locked up and launched into an annoyed retelling of her encounter with the doctor as she made her way up to her uncle's apartment.

As she reached the door, Carlisle chuckled lightly. "I'm sorry he was so rude- it is unjustifiable. But don't take it personally, I am sure he was merely exhausted, even though that is no excuse for such behaviour."

"Do _you_ get like that if you're exhausted?" Claire asked as she pushed open the door and was hit with the familiar sandalwood-and-spices smell that had become the scent of her youth.

"I do not get exhausted quickly," Carlisle evaded her question. She dropped her keys in the bowl next to the door and switched the phone between her hands as she shrugged out of her jacket.

"Well, I am exhausted as well, but I still manage to be civil. And don't tell me that that's one of the joys of being the bigger person."

Carlisle laughed. "Maybe not one of the joys, but certainly one of the effects. And I doubt that you can be anything but the bigger person."

With a sigh she sunk down in the too-soft couch, with it's mix of half a dozen colored pillows, and cast her eyes around the room. The walls were as eccentric as her uncle: painted in shades of purple and saffron and mustard, covered with shelves full of books and various trinkets from his travels. His beloved cello in a corner, his glasses, scarves and books strewn across everything, as messy as always. Like she'd never left.

"I don't feel very big right now," she whispered.

"Claire..."

"I know it's silly! I mean, it's just a damaged shop and a broken leg. Q is going to be alright, and he is insured and financially secure enough to get through this- we _can_ handle this, and it _will_ be alright, I know that. And yet I _still_ feel like I'm slowly falling apart here, and that's so _stupid_ , because when Alfred fell ill I was two years younger and I didn't fall apart, but now? Now I'm a mess!" Her voice had grown continuously louder, and Carlisle had listened to her rant patiently. He thought about his answer for a minute.

"And I think that is were the answer lies: You were younger, Claire. I know it is quite the cliché, but sometimes, ignorance _is_ a blessing. Back then you probably didn't realize what you were getting yourself into. More so, it was a different situation, I would assume. I have seen these stories unfold so many times Claire. In the face of impending catastrophe, and worse, death, there are people who fall apart, and there are people like you, Claire: people who push through, who find the strength to do what needs to be done. And the price for that is often a repression of their own emotions, so they are capable of doing just that. More so -and forgive me if I am assuming too much-I certainly do not want to undermine or belittle your feelings for Alfred, it is plain to see how close you were by the way you talk of him; but you had known him for what? A year? That is something different than the uncle you have spent most of your life with. And it was not just him who got injured- the place you consider your home has been harmed as well. It is bound to shake you, and no sign of weakness."

"But what happened with Alfred was so much worse and yet I was so much more composed..."

"You can't compare that, Claire. Each tragedy we suffer informs us of the pain we are capable of feeling- and thus makes us more weary of the next one that might come. With every new adversity we face we're also confronted with the memory of the former tragedies we have endured, and it is like reliving them. That is what makes you so vulnerable right now. It is harder to remember our strengths than our weaknesses. So each loss feels bigger- but so are you. The fact that you are in London testifies to that."

She pushed her boots off and pulled her legs up to her chest. "What do you mean?"

Carlisle laughed a little, and his voice sounded like he was shaking his head. "Claire," he said, voice tender and a little puzzled, and she didn't know if it was the lack of sleep or her raw emotions, but she could feel it sink right into her bones. His voice was gentle as he continued. "You didn't _need_ to go. "

She stared ahead, confused. "Of course I had to go. He's hurt and alone, I couldn't leave him!"

Again she could hear a patient laugh. "I know. _You couldn't_. But still, you did not _need_ to go. He is in the hospital and taken care of, and his injuries are not especially bad. He will recover soon enough; his store is insured, and, as I assume, will be rebuild by professionals. I am certain he has neighbors and friends that can go shopping for him and help him out. He is an adult, and I presume capable of handling everything himself, so you didn't need to go."

Shocked, she stared at the wall. In a way he was right; technically, she didn't need to be here. Nonetheless, of course she had needed to go. "Are you suggesting I overreacted?" Suddenly she grew angry with him and his patient tone. Clearly he didn't understand her at all. "Carlisle, if you think there was even the _fraction_ of a chance that I could've stayed at home, while my uncle is hurt, you clearly do not know me at all. Needed or not, the thought hadn't crossed my mind for a second!"  
He laughed freely now, and she let out an annoyed huff.

"Yes, that is exactly my point Claire! Can you not see it? _It didn't even cross your mind_ \- I know that, I was there when you got the call. I saw your determination to do everything you could, despite your fear. The thought to chose the more comfortable route didn't even cross your mind for one second. You were determined to go the difficult path, determined to step up and do what needs to be done instead of delegating others to do it, even if it had been perfectly reasonable to do so. Instead, you immediately jumped on a plane and flew half across the world. Don't you see what that says about you?"

When she didn't respond, dumbfounded at his words, he said: "It means you already have all the strength you need for this, even if it doesn't feel like it. Just the decision alone testifies to that, but the fact that you didn't even hesitate erases all my doubts that you will be perfectly fine."

"I… I didn't even realise..."

"I know. And that says a lot about you, as well," he said, voice quiet. Neither of them sad anything for a moment. Then he cleared his throat. "Alright, now, you need to eat something. Do you have anything there?"

"Let me see..." She heaved herself up from the couch and plodded over to the kitchen, an awkward pause in their conversation, and she fervently tried to think of something to say. Luckily, Carlisle was more successful than her.

"Alice loved her present, by the way. She told me to give you her best and that she was very sorry to hear about your uncle."

"Oh right, I totally forgot! I'm so glad she liked it." Her nose was hit by an unpleasant stench coming from a pan that still sat on the stove. She held her breath and went to investigate. Curry, Q's favourite dish, and probably three days old by the smell of it. As she threw it out and opened the window, Carlisle told her of Alice's reaction, and they fell into easy conversation as she hunted down some waffles and threw them in the toaster.

"So, her aversion to gifts is finally overcome?"

He chuckled. "I would not go so far, but I still count it as a victory. "

"You know," Claire said as she filled a glass with tap water and put the warm waffles on a plate, " I'm still surprised that Alice is so averse to gifts. I must have gotten a completely wrong impression of her, but I guess I only met her briefly- still, now I'm worried about my job. My knowledge of human nature is what earns most of my money after all."

Carlisle answered the fraction of a second too late, his tone casual, and Claire gripped her phone a little tighter. "Well, she has impeccable taste, and so she has very distinct ideas of what qualifies as a perfect gift-," then, suddenly, his tone went from rehearsed to confused," but what do you mean, you met her briefly?"

"She came by the shop to buy a book the other day. When you and the boys were out of town. She needed to replace a copy of _Game of Thrones_ Jasper was reading- but don't tell him, that is strictly confidential." When he didn't respond, she asked: "Hasn't she told you?"

"No, she hasn't," he answered, his tone ominous. But before she could ask, he changed the subject, his voice back to normal. " No matter. Do you have something to eat? "

"Waffles," she answered dutifully and took a bite to prove her words. " No lectures about nutritional value, please, it's the best I can do right now," she mumbled with her mouth full, not worried of offending him with her impoliteness. Now that she had eaten a bite, she realised how hungry she was.

"Alright," he answered, bemused," but only if you promise to eat something proper tomorrow."

"With carrots?" she teased.

"With carrots." His voice was solemn, but she could hear his smile behind it.

"Alright, I promise, Doctor." He couldn't see her, but she crossed her heart anyways.

"Good. Are you feeling better?"

The teasing disappeared from her voice. "Very. Thank you, Carlisle."

"It's no matter. I'm afraid I have to leave for work now- but please text me if you need anything. I mean it Claire."

"I will. Sorry I kept you so long."

"You didn't. Now, eat up and then get some sleep. I'm sure you're exhausted. "

She was, she realized. Reluctantly she bid him farewell, hesitant to be alone in the quiet flat.

"I will. Thank you for calming me down. Have a good day at work," she said, and then remembered something. "Oh, and Carlisle? Thanks for the cupcake."

He laughed. "My pleasure. Good night, Claire."

He hung up, and Claire sat on the couch, phone in one hand, a half-eaten waffle in the other. Her thoughts swirled in her head, thick and sluggish as she slowly chomped down the rest of her sparse dinner. Her head felt heavy and almost sore, like she had thought too much today. Now that she sat down for a minute, her whole body started to feel heavy and drowsy, the exhaustion pulling her down like gravity. Suddenly she noticed how cold she was, and pulled the blanket over from the corner of the couch. Halfheartedly she wrapped it around herself, taking another bite from her waffle, her eyes fluttering closed, mind meandering from Q to the Pharmacy, to Carlisle and his kindness, and further to his weird reaction to her meeting Alice, and now and then fragments of _Leaves of Grass,_ marked with red ink, that wove themselves in between.

 _I am the mate and companion of people… all just as fathomless and immortal as myself… they do not know how immortal, but I know…. I am of old and young… of the foolish as much as the wise… In all people I see myself..._


End file.
